


Honor Thy Father

by Copper_Wings



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Adam Crowley, Angst, Baby B - Freeform, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Kid Fic, M/M, Mild Language, Rating May Change, dad crowley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:07:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copper_Wings/pseuds/Copper_Wings
Summary: John 5:19Then Jesus answered and said to them, "Most assuredly, I say to you, the Son can do nothing of Himself, but what He sees the Father do; for whatever He does, the Son also does in like manner.Or the one where Crowley doesn't "Kidnap" the Anti-Christ but due to a mix up in the convent; ends up raising him with or with out his Angel.





	1. Monday, Five days until the end of the world.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sue_Clover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sue_Clover/gifts), [KalavelLoki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalavelLoki/gifts).



> so yeah, i bit the bullet and have planed out a almost complete rewrite of Good Omens where Adam is raised by Demon Dad Crowley.  
> Im hoping to update this every Monday. i am an adult now with a regular job so i should be able to keep to a scheduled but feel free to scream at me if i miss a day.  
> hope you like it,  
> oh and alternative title for this chapter was "Sister Mary, two babies and the carry cot"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this Chapter has been edited with the help of the lovely Sue_Clover, im sorry for taking so long on updating this with your suggestions life has been getting in the way a lot. :)

It was sunny, well, as sunny as it ever was in the centre of London.

For those of you don’t know, London is a vaguely potato shaped blob about ten miles across, with its own weather system which is almost entirely different to that of the rest of the UK.

Warlock was moping along, his nose glued to his phone (not literally, though Crowley sometimes wished he could get close enough with some glue without the little nuisance noticing.) Warlock had perfected the art of nearly completely ignoring the world around him, but remaining just aware enough that he could avoid anyone who might bump into him. His mother was walking along admiring the sculptures, pausing now and then to read an information sign. She did this much in the same manner as most people the world over when they want to look more intelligent than they are. They don’t actually read what is written on the information board, just frown and nod like they agree with what ever had been said then point to it and repeat a few lines when a friend or family member joins you.

A little way from the stroppy pre-teen, representatives of both heaven and hell discussed the fate of the world.

“I mean, he could just disappear,” suggested the Demon. He was slouched on the wooden bench. This was a master level slouch of someone who had trained for years to hold his body in such a position. A normal person if attempting this would pull a muscle, if not worse.

The Angel that sat prim and proper next to him frowned,

“I don’t see how hiding him would help?” he said, which earned a glare form his companion. The thick sunglasses that covered the Demon’s yellow eyes obscured the fond irritation directed at the angel.

“I mean kill him Angel,” he clarified.

The Angel shuffled in his seat, uncomfortable about this conversation. He tried to change the subject, but not to much avail.

“Are you going to get him a dog?” Azriaphale looked over at Crowley, know full well that Crowley had asked him to provide the hound and that this was purely a diversion.

“I thought you were going to sort that out.” Crowley responded, rolling his concealed eyes.

“Why are we getting him a dog anyway.”

Crowley gave a side glance at his companion, silently noting the use of “we”.

Azriaphale wasn’t done with his grumbling, “Do remember the hamster?” he continued.

“Sir hamserlot? Yeah.” Crowley cringed at the memory of the tan and white little rodent. The poor thing went through so meant names it was a wonder it didn't have identity issues.

“How meant times did we have to pull that poor creature back from the jaws of death?” Aziraphale said shaking his head. The retched thing had eventually snuffed it permanently when the boy had gotten it into his head that hamsters could swim. They can, much like rats, but being put in a crudely made ship and pushed out on a duck pond in the middle of winter would be terminal for most rodents, or any other small mammal.

A dog is a bit bigger. This was the only argument Crowley could come up with at the time.

“Well,” Azriaphale relented, “he is a bit older now.”

Crowley shuffled further into his slouch.

“It's the end of the world, Angel.” He muttered gloomily, “Just give the kid what he wants. And he wants a dog.”

Aziraphale flinched at this painful truth.

“Well you have a point dear, Fine, he can have a dog.”

There was a pause as they watched Warlock ignore the world around him and play on his phone, the cartoonish sounds of games annoying the people around him. Crowley smirked; apps had been one of his ideas. Well, according to hell they were. Humans were always doing his job for him; he just took the credit when the higher ups asked about it. He sighed, and slipped back into the conversation about the end of the world.

“We’d better be there when the dog arrives,” Crowley said darkly.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary. I think he can look after himself and a dog for a few hours. He is old enough now, don’t you think?” Aziraphale smiles nodding in agreement with himself.

Crowley shot the angel a withering look.

“I meant the hellhound and Warlock, not some overly excited puppy with a bladder the size of a spoon. This is going to a monster. The biggest they have got, according to downstairs.”

Aziraphale lip touched in a pout. “Oh” was all he said.

“I'm going as waiting staff don't want people recognizing me.” Crowley continued.

“Can you bring him?” Aziraphale ask, hoping for an excuse to attend the birthday party without having to play these cloak and dagger games.

“He said he doesn’t want to go. Said warlock isn't fun to hang out with anymore.” Crowley mutters. He huffs when his companion choses not to add a comment.

“He is going to seeing a lot more of him whether he likes it or not. That is if there is anything after.” Crowley said darkly. He still hadn’t figure how they were going to make it through the next few days.

A sudden though shot through Aziraphale mind.

“I could be the entertainment! I’ll brush up on my magic!” he said excitedly, beaming at the idea.

“Oh no, angel, please don’t. Really, it’s humiliating.” Crowley protested, “You can do miracles, why bother doing sleight of hand when you’re not good at it?” Aziraphale bounced in his seat. This was going to be fun.

* * *

**One late august night just outside the small village of Tadfield,**

When a snake regurgitates its food, its normally because it had been grabbed or handle soon after eating or is otherwise subjected to stress.

As Crowley knelt in damp grass on the bank beside the road, he wiped his mouth. The light from the Bentley’s open door revealing the grey sludge that was even now burning the grass. The small part of Crowley’s mind that wasn’t screaming in panic wondered when the last time he had eaten was. Without the help of the rest of his brain, he guessed around six years ago.

Pushing himself up onto wobbly legs, Crowley slid back into the driving seat, switched on the radio as he did so. As he pulled the car back onto the road, Crowley checked the rear-view mirror. The carry cot was still there. This was real.

“Shit, shit, shit, why me, why me?” he muttered to himself. The radio crackle,

“BECAUSE YOU EARNED IT CROWLEY” came the voice of Freddy Mercury.

“Fuck…” though Crowley.

* * *

**The Convent of The Sisterhood of Chattering Nuns of St Beryl** ,

Sister Annabelle Houghton was totally normal, much to the annoyances of her parents. They were traditional occultists who gave her supposedly cursed china dolls and pretty, frilly dresses in attempts to get her possessed. They had even moved at an old house which the nice estate agent had made very clear was the site of quite a few murders and ghost stories. It even had its own graveyard in the garden. Her swing was hung in an old knarred oak tree which legend had it was used as a hangman’s gibbet, but she never used it. When Annabelle eventually grew up, her parents had lamented and had sent her off to the Sisterhood of Chattering Nuns of St Beryl. Not too worried about this, Annabelle went along as she thought it might be interesting.

Now she sat looking out of one of the convent’s window keeping watch for the arrive of Master Crowley and the baby boy he carried with him. The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. She was very excited; this was a big day and she, Sister Annabelle, would be part of it. A cup of tea sat on the windowsill beside her. It had gone cold hours ago, No matter.

A car came screaming through the gates of the convert. Excitement jolting up her spine, Sister Annabelle leapt from her seat and began to quickly click her way down the hall towards the foyer. She turned the corner expecting to see one of her sisters talking to Master Crowley but broke into a run when she saw which sister it was. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Sister Mary Loquacious, she was a lovely person when you were sat having a chat, it was just that things, important things, tended to go wrong when she was involved.

“Mother Superior! Master Crowley is here!” she half-yelled, her fists full of her skirt as she leaped down the three little steps leading up to the corridor. Crowley quickly ducked behind a column in responses to the shouting. Shouting mostly lead to pitchforks, torches and a bad time for him.

“Greeting Master Crowley” she said, tried to smile and make her voice sound cheerful but her eyes were screaming at Sister Mary Loquacious. If she wasn’t holding The Anti-Christ, she may have shoved her out of harm’s way (harm’s way meaning any damage Sister Loquacious could cause to others, not the other way around). Sister Annabelle stopped next to her sister, peering at the bundle in her arms. The baby gurgled quietly. She quickly curtsied to Master Crowley who was still looking between the nuns wondering if he could slip out before anyone noticed.

The double doors leading to the hospital rooms flew open and a furious old nun stormed through. This was not part of the plan. She ran her icy gaze over the two nuns, who both know the consequences of that stare. Her eyes found Crowley who was trying not to look like a rabbit in the headlights, he was a demon after all. There was no escape now.

Long hair, sunglasses, modern suit, snakeskin shoes? Not what she though one of hell’s best demons would look like. She raised an eyebrow and forced a smile.

“Master Crowley, you’re just in time.” she walked slowly with an air of control. Crowley drew himself up to his full height. The Mother Superior had the eyes of a school master and they are well known for making even the naughtiest individuals squirm.

“Sister Annabelle, please go and retrieve the child of the ambassador and inform the other sisters that the switch will be taking places presently.” she smiled at the terrified nun who swallowed and nodded, turning to hurrying down the hall. Crowley tried to sidle towards the door. He stopped dead when the older nun eyes dropped on him. He tried to give her a confident smile.

“Master Crowley, if you would just pop over to the desk, we have a few papers for you to sign just to keep everything in order.” she turned and glided over to the foyer desk and began to draw papers out of a file. Crowley reluctantly followed her, dumping the now empty carry cot on the desk before propping himself up on it.

Sister Mary Loquacious frowned. She rocked the Anti-Christ in her arms. He was chewing on his hand. She had checked, it didn’t have claws. She looked up at Master Crowley and frowned again. She walked over to the desk,

“Umm Master Crowley?” she asked and terrifying yellow eyes looked at her over dark sunglasses. Something in the very pit of her soul screamed and told her to run. It was the same part that says loud nosies and falling mandatory fears. The part that made skulls scary, even though they are always smiling. She took a step back,

“Yeah?” he grunted. Mother Superiors levelled her glare at the Sister. She didn’t notice, now over the shock of yellow eyes she felt bolder,

“What is going to happen to the spare baby?” she asked. Crowley rolled his eyes to the Mother superior who was trying to set the younger nun on fire via sheer force of will. Without taking her eyes of her pray the Mother Superior said,

“Yes, that was something I was going to ask you as well Master Crowley. We are willing to go through with the switch, but we want nothing to do with disposing of the baby,” her eyes now turned on Crowley “We may be satanic Nuns, but we are not monsters.” Crowley paused at this juxtaposition. He huffed and turned back to the paperwork, one of hells better inventions,

“Put it in the carry cot, I will deal with it,” Crowley replied absentmindedly. “Sure, why not?” Crowley thought “Not like it will matter in a few years anyway”. Sister Mary Loquacious ginned the kind of grin that would suggest she didn’t quite understand what was going on.

“Sister Mary, please take The Young Lord down to Sister Annabelle.” Mother Superior said as she started pulling out more official looking papers. Crowley slouched at the prospect of more paperwork. Sister Mary Loquacious nodded happily and pushed through the double doors leading to the hospital rooms. Now that The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness was out of eyesight, Crowley felt a weight off his back. He no longer wanted to vomit.

* * *

Sister Mary Loquacious had found a potable cot for the anti-Christ, in which he now rested. his red blanket tucked around him. She pushed him down the hall spotting sister Annabelle pushing a similar cot out of room 4. Sister Mary paused outside room 3 ready to make the swap. A putrid smell began to waft up the hall. Both sisters gaged. A similar smell began to rise form the baby in the cot in front of Sister Mary and the babies began to cry in unison. Sister Annabelle reached Sister Mary, her face pushed into her shoulder and her eyes watering.

“I think our lord has made us an offering,” she gaged as she spoke, “And this little man has also given us a gift”. She pushed open the door to delivery room 3 and hurriedly pushed the cot in. Sister Mary followed with her own charge.

“You change the babies and I will fetch the carry cot from Master Crowley.” It was clearly just a excuse to getting out of having to be in same room as the stench for any longer, but Sister Mary didn’t want to argue. The smell was truly awful.

In the bed, Mrs Young turned over a frown wrinkling her brow. Some internal mothering instinct told her that a baby needed changing, but something else told her it wasn’t hers so sleep on.

Sister Mary hesitated as she plucked the Anti-Christ from his cot and laid him on the changing table beside the door. She unwrapped the blanket and dropped it back in the cot. The baby whimpered as she removed the dirty nappy and cleaned him. She cooed at him. “Imagine little me changing the Destroyer of worlds’ nappy and powdering his little tush.” Sister Mary thought to herself. The baby in the other cot began to cry.

The mother in the bed yawned but stayed asleep. In an attempted sooth the baby, Sister Mary picked the ambassadors child up. He was a chunky baby and quite heavy. Sister Mary had to shift him about a bit before they were both comfortable. The white blanket was lost in this juggling. As she bounced the baby the door to the room opened. Expecting sister Annabelle, Sister Mary turned to face the door where a man was peering in.

“Err Hello. I’m the father, the husband.” He stammered, he wondered over to the babies looking down at the one on the changing table.

“Is this him?” he asked in awe. The baby looked up at him and immediately began to cry. Terrified about what he had done he scooped up the child and began to pat his back.

“Umm no, these two are not yours, just looking after them. Your baby is with your wife over there.” She nodded towards Mrs Young and the cot next to her.

Sister Mary was beginning to gag over the smell coming from the baby in her arms, she laid him on the changing table and began to clean him up.

After soothing the baby in his arms, Mr Young laid the baby down in the empty crib. He picked up the white blanket off the floor and tucked it around him. He walked over to the cot next to his wife and looked down at his new born. A small part of him was hopeful that he would look upon the face of his child and instantly recognized it as his own. But when he looked down at the sleeping baby, he looked identical to the two with the nun. This one was a little smaller but there wasn’t a moment of recognition. No sudden flash of love for the tiny human in front of him, that is mentioned in books and films. Of course, he didn’t say that. He smiled and looked back at the nun who was disposing of the nappy in a small bin next to the table.

“You know, he looks like me.” He said proudly. The Nun smiled at him, rewrapping the baby,

“Have you thought of a name?” she asked. There was a nervous air about her. That probably came with having to look after two babies at once. He had new respect for people with twins and triplets.

They had discussed names but not come to any solid concoctions, they had a name if it had been a girl and after twitching the blanket back it couldn’t be used anymore. The baby snuffled in its sleep; Mr. Young jumped back afraid that he would make it cry like he had the other child.

“We haven though of any names for a boy,” he explained as the nun had finished changing the baby. Then, looking down at the second child in the crib with a frown, she looked at the baby in her arms. After a moment hesitant, she seemed to come to a conclusion and plopped it in the second cot wrapping it in the red blanket.

“Well, what about the classic like Luke, John, Adam. Bible names and the like?” She rocked the babies in the cots. Mr. Young thought about this for a second as he looked back at his son. He didn’t really look like any of those names, but they were good honest names. Suddenly a nun scuttled into the room. She was a little out of breath. She looked at Mr. Young the way one would look at a velociraptor. She managed to school her features and smile at him.

Sister Annabelle had returned to the front desk and immediate run into Mr. Young who had asked what room his wife was in. Directing the man down the hall without a though until she had picked up the carry cot. She had just sent an imposter into the same room as The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of this world, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness. Picking up her heels again, she took off down the hall and was now stood with Sister Mary, two babies and the carry cot. She turned her slightly manic smile on Sister Mary. She winked. Sister Mary Winked back. They smiled at each other, completely missing each other’s meanings.

“Baby removal services,” she laughed pushing the baby with the red blanket out of the room. She pointed at the carry cot next to the remaining baby and nodded down the hall. Sister Mary nodded back. She placed the carry cot on the changing surfaces and placed the remaining baby in the white blanket in it. Scooping up baby and carry cot she moved to leave the room,

“Umm,” said Mr. Young using the tone of someone who doesn’t want to be a bother but is no doubts going to be a problem.

“Is there any paperwork I need to fill in,” he asked nervously. Always ready to be helpful, Sister Mary nodded and beckoned for him to follow her. It wasn’t until they entered the hall that she realized this might have been a bad decision. She could see Master Crowley’s back to her when Mr. Young held the door open. Trying to think fast she walked up to him putting the now full carry cot next to him on the desk.

“Here is you son Master Crowley,” she said as way of explanation. The yellow eyes turned on her and the primal urge to run shot up her spine. Mr. Young was too distracted to notice, walking up next to her and leaned against the desk.

“Umm, does the birth certificate need signing?” he asked looking over the desk at all the papers. The Mother Superior who had been overseeing Crowley filling out all the correct papers in the right places, It wouldn’t do to have buggered up the paperwork on such a big job, pulled a file over the papers. Putting on her best plastic smile. She flicked through the relevant files and produced a birth certificate for Mr. Young. She also pulled one out and handed it to Crowley. Conscious of the presents of Mr. Young, Crowley took the offered page. Mr. Young peeked into cot at the baby.

“He’s a cute one,” he says trying to rope Crowley into a conversation so he can talk about his own kid. Crowley doesn’t acknowledge him. Not deterred, Mr. Young filled in the birth certificate leaving the name till last. He still needed to talk to his wife about it.

“Though of a name yet?” he asked. Again, this was met by silenced. Mr. Young looked over at Crowley, he was well dressed and very out of places here. He didn’t have the look of expectant father. He looked worried.

“We were thinking about Adam,” he continued. This conversation was going to happen even if he had to do it himself. However, this got a reaction out of the other man. He laughed. He snorted then laughed out loud.

“Something wrong with Adam?” Mr. Young questioned, getting slightly defensive over a possible name for his son. The man pushed his long hair back away from his face. He was handsome, even Mr. Young had to admit that.

“No, it’s a fine name. But I knew an Adam once, he was a complete bastard,”.

Sister Mary giggled under her breath. But then frowned at the thought of how a demon knew the original Adam. She puzzled over this for the rest of the conversation.

Mr. Young let his shoulders drop,

“What would you suggest then?” he asked sheepishly. Crowley turned on him and Mr. Young had to squash a sudden urge to back away and make himself small. Crowley looks him up and down before speaking. His emotionless sunglasses making it feel like he wasn’t blinking. He wasn’t but behind the glasses no one could tell.

“Something royal may be. Henry, James, William?” he suggested. Mr. Young felt better about these names.

Crowley looked back at the almost complete page in front of him.

“It doesn’t matter, it will all be over in eleven years anyway.” Crowley mumbled glumly as he looked at the last section of the certificate

FIRST NAME:

It was blank. He stared at it. Did he have to name it?

“Oh,” Mr. Young said confused. In an effort to change the typic he looked into the cot again, “You know, he looks like an Adam.” he added.

Crowley huffed but he couldn’t think of anything better. Plus, it made sense in an ironic way. Crowley scribbled the name down on the final dotted line on the page pushing it towards the nun. He snatched the carry cot of the desk and strode out the lobby. Mr. Young tried to wave goodbye, but Crowley was long gone.

* * *

**Inside Delivery room 4** ,

Sister Annabelle handed the baby to the ambassador’s wife who looked down at him with the love of a first-time mother,

“Sorry that took so long Your Ladyship, he is such a scrumptious little man. Every nun in the convent had to coo at him,” Sister Annabelle sighed as she stood back, her job was done. She really needs a cup of tea now.

Mother Superior quietly pushed open the door and came in.

“Oh what a little lord,” she said causing all nuns in the room to smile. “Have you thought of a name?”

* * *

The convent burnt down that night. However, the only paperwork that was destroyed, was form that night. Apart from the birth certificate of one James Henry Young.

* * *

**Somewhere far away from the convent,**

Crowley pulled the Bentley into a short dead-end road that was the entrances to a farmer’s field. He cut the engine and the lights of the snarling beast of a car disappeared, leaving only the dark hedgerow in front of him.

The silence enveloped the car, seeming to seep in through all the gaps in the doors and poured out of the vents. Soon Crowley was engulfed in it. He paused, appreciating the moment. The sound of the engine cooling was the only noise that could be heard inside the car. The carry cot next to him cooed. He looked over at his new acquisition and pulled it closer to him. He carefully pulled the small and oh so delicate baby out and laid him across his knees looking up at him. The baby yawned but seemed very much awake. The white blanket that was bundled around him stopping his arms from moving.

Crowley huffed and rubbed his faces pushing his glasses off slightly. He squeezed his eyes shut and began to mutter at the baby,

“Okay first test,”

He pulled his glasses off completely and crouched over the baby sticking his tough out. Letting the glamor over it drop so the tips flicked over the babies scrunched up little nose. His eyes almost glowed yellow in the darkness he didn’t show his true, true form just these small parts. The Baby screeched and Crowley jerked back worried, but unsurprised, that he had terrified the poor thing. When the screech turned into a gurgling laugh, he looked back at the baby who had wiggled free an arm and was grabbing at Crowley with a gummy grin. Slight confused Crowley rewrapped the baby in his white blanket and shifted it to be cradled in his arms,

“Okay so you passed the first test. Now we need to go other some ground rules if this arrangement is going to work out.”.

The baby babbled at him trying to wiggle free of his confines. He seemed fine with the whole yellow eyes and snake toung though. Probably knew no different, Crowley wondered leaning back in the driver’s seat.

“So I will house you, feed you and take care of you until you have worked out how to use a toilet. After that we can look into the walking, talking, reading, writing business but there are some conditions that you have to uphold,”.

The baby sneezed, looked shocked at this strange turn of events, blinked a few times before looking back up at the demon. Now that he had the baby’s attention again Crowley continued,

“Firstly, the family you came from, the one that has the anti-Christ.” The baby watched him with uncanny eyes that seemed to understand what he was saying. That or, more worryingly for Crowley, he was ranting at a newborn infant that had no idea what was going on and was just watching him make noises in the dark car.

“Warlock, they called him Warlock.”

The baby gave him a half smile, hoping that the smile was from recognizing the name.

“You’re gonna have to be friends with that brat. secondly you will not get in my way or interfere with my work.”

The baby yawned at him. It seemed that all the excitement was getting the better of him its eyes began to slip closed. Crowley rocked him slightly trying not to enjoy holding the child. A small part of him that was thought to be long dead, started to thaw. He placed the baby back in the carry cot in the passenger’s seat. The baby whimpered at the movement but settled back in the crib snuggling into the blanket.

Crowley backed out and onto the road. Now, where was the nearest mother care?

* * *

Azriaphale had just got back to the book shop when the phone rang. He paused hanging his coat up on its peg, before picking it up, he suspected who it might be but wasn’t sure. He plucked the phone from the handle and held it daintily to his ear,

“I’m dreadfully sorry but I’m afraid we are closed at the...,” his polite but discouraging scripted was cut by a very familiar voice,

“It’s me Angel.”

It sounded as though Crowley was making this call from a phone box. Oh dear, what trouble had he gotten himself into now.

“Crowley? Is that you?” he asked anyway knowing the answer,

“Yes. We need to talk.” He said matter of factly.

“Yes, I rather think we do.” Azriaphale thought of the conversation he had had with Gabriel earlier that day.

Crowley looked through the window of the Bentley at the sleeping baby inside. He hung up the phone and got back into the car. He looked over at the child. He was so small. Crowley stroked his cheek with a black nailed finger.

“You have no idea what is going on. I envy you Adam,” the baby sighed in his sleep.


	2. Wednesday three days until the end of the world.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> quietly slip this in pretending it isn't a day late.
> 
> i have had to cut this chapter in half it got a little carried away. i might post the second half tomorrow.

The day had arrived, Warlock’s birthday.

The entertainment had arrived early in the morning. Among the procession of food trucks, carnival bands and tech, catering and decoration vans, was a jet black 1926 Bentley.

Bright marquees were raised, and three types of bouncy castle were set up. The buffet and gift area were linked via conjoining tents. A bored looking clown was smoking a thin cigarette while leaning against the wall of the Dowling’s Grand house, his painted smile half finished.

Inside the house the shouts of an overly excited eleven-year-old, who's breakfast had consisted mostly of sugar, could be heard as he opened the fifty or so personally wrapped presents from his parents.

As the organize chaos which comprises the setup of an event unfolded, Aziraphale and Crowley were able to lean against the side of the Bentley out of the way.

“When is the dog meant to be arriving?” Aziraphale queried. He fiddled with one of the sleeve buttons on his coat. He had chosen to wear his full magicians outfit including the ridiculous top hat. They had agreed that they should ware disguises so no one would recognise them. Crowley was a close family friend of the Dowling's and Warlock had been under Aziraphale’s tuitions of seven years now. No matter how much of a brat Warlock was, Aziraphale still wouldn’t wish any harm on him. Especially not today.

Aziraphale’s box of magician’s equipment sat next to him. It had been hefted off the back of the Bentley moments before. The decrepit sign for ‘Mr. Fell’s Magical Marvels’ that had been painted on, was beginning to peel.

Crowley lounged next to him, leaning against the bonnet of his car. He was watching the house like he was expecting it to explode (which, given what was meant to happen, it very well might).

“3 o’clock” Crowley replied, in his slow laid back manner.

Aziraphale shuffled his feet awkwardly. Crowley noticed and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Did you really have to choose that…look? You do rather standout.” the angel said cautiously.

Crowley turn and looked at his companion over his sunglasses, reptilian eyes gleaming in the early morning sun.

“You were the one who said we should use disguises” the demon retorted, eyeing Aziraphale’s badly drawn on moustache.

“Yes, but did you have to be a busty red head, dear?”

Crowley turned away, smiling at the angel’s embarrassment,

“I like the attention.” He said simply.

Crowley swished his thick red hair before standing up and strutted past one of the buffet tables heading towards the house. His stiletto heels would have caused any mortal to snap something. They defied the laws of physics as he walked over slightly damp grass with no incident. The white button up shirt was doing its best to contain his ample bosom but the buttons where staring to show signs of stress. It was smart with a small black name tag proclaimed that Crowley's name was "Devilia".

As Crowley walked, he was followed but the eyes of nearly every man in the area, not to mention a few women. Much to Crowley’s amusement however, one of the chefs seemed to be ignoring him. Instead, his eyes kept flicking over to the nervous Aziraphale, standing there in his magicians’ outfit.

Aziraphale hadn’t seemed to notice the looks he was receiving, though was highly aware of the black hole of attention that was Crowley. Crowley had walked over to the kitchen door where a green haired woman, in a white jumper with black cats decorating it, was standing idly. Calming watch the chaos unfold before her. She had a scarf wrapped tightly around her neck. She will become important later, don’t forget her.

Crowley plucked a cigarette out of his top pocket and leaned against the wall next to the green haired women. She handed him her lighter then took a drag form her own cigarette.

Aziraphale was worried about two things. The first thing was whether Crowley's pencils skirt would hold up. Aziraphale watched the fabric stretch to its very limits as he bent down to adjust the strap on one of his heels. Virtually every attendant in a five-mile radius leaned closer.

The second and notably more prominent worry was how the day was going to go and how they were going to avoid a disaster. The birthday guests were arriving. Children and parents, all innocent, (well as innocent as the higher classes ever are) and soon a furious monster will be set upon them. The important thing was if everything had gone to plan, young Warlock would send the dog away. Aziraphale looked over at the gift table that was beginning to fill up, a tank was being placed carefully on the plastic table. It creaked ominously, the rare Platinum Arowana fish, that had cost nearly half a million pounds, darted behind its rock like it would help if the tank fell. Hopefully the fish would be more appealing than a dog, Warlock did like his tropical fish.

* * *

2:57 PM Wednesdays,

Chaos rained in the party tent.

It had begun when one of the many children who had gotten bored of Aziraphale frankly atrocious magic act decided to grabbing a slice of cake and launch it with some precision into the angel’s face.

It had slipped downward from there and now the catering staff were forming a defensive line between the buffet table and the screeching, laughing children who where covered in the food they had manged to grab before it was fenced off.

The green haired woman was trying to pry Warlock off one of the younger children as he attempted to insert malterese up their nose, laughing manically as he did so. She had cake and other jammy substances now covering her jumper.

* * *

2:58 PM Wednesday

Crowley stood untarnished just to the side of the war zone. He was looking at his watch. The second ticked by and he tried to tune the sound of childish shouting out and listen for large clawed feet on the gravel. There was no growling or terrified screams from outside. Aziraphale looked over at Crowley for help. He had quickly stuffed all his tools back in his trunk out of the way of wondering hands.

* * *

2:59 PM Wednesday

Aziraphale got side swiped by a cream cake that had been snatched by one of little girls. The remains of which lay splatted on the floor. It was quickly disassembled and launched again. The squeals got louder and Crowley strained his ears to hear any sound of a beast approaching.

* * *

3:00 PM Wednesday

Crowley peeked out of the tent. The clown, who had come before Aziraphale, was sat in his car on his phone. A few of the Technician staff where standing well back form the tent to avoid getting splatted. Many of the parents where making their way around the side of the large manor to see what all the fuss was about. Mr and Mrs Dowely are with them. None of them seem scared or like they had seen a monstrous hell hound prancing across the lawn as they discussed golf.

* * *

3:01 PM Wednesday

Nothing. Not a single hair of the creature. Crowley flinched as Aziraphale grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the tent in the opposite direction to the parents arriving. The green haired woman now had hold of Warlock but this just meant she was the main target in the tent. She was the only one to see the two entities slip out, and she gave them one hell of a glare.

* * *

The green haired woman’s name was Beth Sherman. She looked like she was in her mid-twenties and had the air of a university graduate who had done their degree in childcare. Her unique style of clothing suggested she was into slightly new age wiccan. She is, it should be mentioned, also an agent of hell. Her true name was Bathsheaba Sherman and had been sent to watch over the young anti-Christ, acting as a nanny and caretaker whilst also feeding information back to hell.

Whereas Crowley was an actual demon born from falling from grace, Beth had been a lowly spirit, given a body and place under Crowley’s command. This however didn’t faze Beth who still view Crowley as a flash bastard. While Beth had the appearance of a woman in her early twenties, she had been in her forties when she had been wrongly hung for being a witch in the 1800s, accused due to an infant dying in her care. Infant mortality was not unusal at this time and in this rural area. however, shortly after a witchfinder had come into the area, a crude autopsy done on the child. It had shown that the cause of death had been a large pin stuck through its skull. Beth had been accused, found guilty, and was soon after hanged. After dying, Beth had found herself in a loop of dark, crowded corridors which turned out to be hell. This had been a shock to her as she knew she was innocent. Though after a few decades she found out that it doesn’t matter what you did in life, if you are condemned by those still living you end up here. This is why gravestones have nice things written on them, mostly.

She had tried to stay out of sight of the bigger fish in the eternal corridors and cramped rooms. That is, until after one notable assignment she had been plucked out of a dark corner and told she was going back up top to watch over a young boy. Thinking this could be a way out of the dullness of death and, no matter what people said about her, she had been a wonderful mother and loved children (she had had four of her own), Beth had accepted. It wasn’t until afterwards that she found out she’d be watching the son of Satan.

That had been a few years ago. Warlock wasn’t as demonic as she had feared. He had turned out to be a sweet kid and, while spoiled rotten, had a soft heart.

Where Crowley had yellow eyes showing his true form, souls who inhabit human vessel show evidences of how they had died. A murdered soul might have a scar where they had been stabbed, a poisoned soul might not take to food or drink well. in Beth’s case she still had the rope marks around her neck from where she was hanged. As such she had taken to wearing a scarf tightly around her neck to cover them (while she had claimed to Crowley it had been her idea, Beth had actually picked the idea up from a vampire novel she had started reading at one point).

While technical Crowley was her supervisor, both Beth and the demon had formed an uneasy balance. They would take their perspective children to the park together on Saturdays, Beth so Warlock could get some playtime with other children and Crowley so he can get an update on the child’s progress. She knew about the “Arrangement” in the same way you would know about the inner working of toilet. You know how it works but you’re not going to try and make edits to it. She kept it a secret from the higher lords for many reasons. One being that Crowley had had her back on several occasions that Warlock hadn’t lived up to their expectation, for example; explaining why a five-year-old wouldn’t kill his classmates in cold blood (not because he was a wimp but because he can’t rule the world form a mental hospital or prison). Crowley also gave her the freedom to explore the modern world. Instagram had been a big thing for her. After the hate she had been through in her life becoming famous on the social media platform and getting hundreds of likes had been a real confidence boost for her.

This accumulated experience from her time in Hell and of looking after Warlock for 11 years also stoked her temper as she ripped open the Bentleys door, several moments after palming off Warlock to his reluctant mother and chasing after the ineffable duo. This show of aggression surprised Crowley, who had just changed back into his usual body.

* * *

“What the fuck is going on? Where is the fucking dog?” she half screamed at him. Fear of what would happen if she was found out to have failed to do her job was bubbling in her throat.

Aziraphale looked up reproachfully; “No need for that language, there are children nearby.”

Beth shot a look that could skewer an elephant, over the top of the car at the angel.

“Shut it feathers” she spat viciously, “I want to know what’s going on because my neck is on the line if you two morons have messed things up.”

Aziraphale tutted under his breath and resumed removing the icing and frosting that covered his face with a handkerchief. It was an utter waste of such a scrumptious cake, Aziraphale (while feeling embarrassed to have had it thrown into his face) couldn’t help feeling sorry for the chef who had watched helplessly from the kitchen before rushing over with a wad of napkins for the confectionary-covered angel.

Despite the woman who was almost incandescing with rage bearing down on him, Crowley was still looking straight out of the Bentley’s windscreen with a thousand-mile stare. The reality of their situation had finally arrived, and its weight came crashing down on him like a moon landing on an ant hill.

“The dog hasn’t arrived.” the demon managed, as the enormity of the situation and, more importantly its consequences, screamed across his mind.

“No shit it’s not arrived, where the hell is it?!” Beth growled; she also knew the consequences.

“There has to be some explanation for it not arriving” Aziraphale said cautiously.

“He isn’t the one.”

Both Beth and Aziraphale stared at Crowley, though after years of childcare, Beth reacted much faster than the angel.

“What do you mean he’s not the one?!” she exclaimed.

“Warlock isn’t the Anti-Christ” Crowley said bluntly, starting to regain his usual cool composure.

Beth stared at him; “You mean we have been pouring all out time into the wrong kid.”.

“It would appear so. The hellhound would have arrived otherwise.”

Beth slumped against the car, her rage gone and replaced by dread.

“I’m dead. Hastur and Ligur and Beelzebub. They’ll kill me.”

Aziraphale looked up awkwardly.

“Well I am sorry to say but you already are dead my dear. Were it otherwise, you might not be in this situation.”

Again, Aziraphale is fixed with the glare.

Crowley’s mind was racing. There had to have been a mix up or switch at some point. But where and how? Warlock had been under fulltime observation since the moment he had been given…to the nuns. The penny dropped with an almost audible clan.

“There must have been a mix up at that nun’s convent. I delivered him there, they must have messed things up” he wondered out loud.

“How can they have messed that up?!” Beth demanded, “You take one out and put the other back in. It’s so simple even the angel could have done it.”

“There’s no need for those sort of remarks” Aziraphale piped up from the passenger seat, face now devoid of cake.

Crowley thought back to that night; “There must have been another kid. That’s the only explanation. Unless the nuns were actually working for your side all along Angel.”

Both pairs of eyes tricked upon Aziraphale.

“Well they certainly were not working for me”, he retorted, “And do you think if another angel had possession of the Anti-Christ, or had even killed him, that they stay quiet about it? Gabriel himself would have been parading round heaven for weeks”. The angel grimaced at the thought.

The Bentley’s radio suddenly crackled into life

causing all three to stare at the car’s dashboard. Then the crackling shifted in tone, taking on the higher pitched buzzing of mosquitos and the lower droning sounds of flies. The buzzing shifted again into a voice.

“CROWLEY ARE YOU THERE?” the voice demanded.

Crowley slapped his hand over Aziraphale mouth before his could speak. Beth shuffled away from the car door. Crowley knew the familiar sounds of Lord Beelzebub.

“Yes hello, Beelzebub, Crowley here. How are you?” Crowley replied quickly, indicating with a finger for the others to remain silent.

“HAS THE HELLHOUND ARRIVED CROWLEY?”

“What? Oh, yes! It’s just arriving now, giant evil looking thing! What a monster!” Crowley stammered quickly, “Got to go I’m afraid My Lord, lots to do.”

Crowley slammed the radio’s off switch, banishing the buzzing voice from the car and leaving the trio is silence.

Aziraphale was the first to react this time. He looked at Crowley and his accomplice.

“Well, you are both are in deep trouble.”

* * *

Far away from London, but not so far that you couldn’t commute, the real anti-Christ is playing with his friends. It was his birthday after all.

The group was called by the locals as The Them. There were five of them, Adam Crowley was the leader. Pippin Galadriel Moonchild also known as Pepper, if you didn’t want you nose broken, was the girl. Brian was the dirty one, Jeromy Wensleydale was the smart one, and James Young was the one who wasn't Brian or Wensleydale.

Adam. J. Crowley was the leader as he had all the best ideas for games. Adam and his father where the subject of gossip in several different community circles. A single dad who had a job in the city, with money to splash around. Thought sent excited whispers though every mums group in Tadfield. Adam and James also had the same birthday. The very moment when he discovered this, Adam had declared them as best friends for life.

Jeromy Wensleydale, as said before, was the smart one. constantly asking questions and trying to understand things. He was mature for his age which is why he mostly went by his last name. His parents encourage him to hangout with the rest of the Them to try and get him to act more like an 11 year old rather then a 45 year old.

Pepper, the only girl in the group, ruled over the boys with an iron fist. though she did respect Adam, purely because he came up with the best ideas (though she wasn’t afraid to fight them to get her own way). She was closer to James that the other three boys. the others mostly put this down to the fact that James hadn't backed down when she had flown into a rage when Adam had made a joke about her name when they had first met. he had looked her dead in the eye as she had turned to attack him, the other three boys on the ground or crying, and they had come an agreement.

Brian was the heart of the group. He was neutral in most of the arguments. He was loyal to Adam mainly because he lacked the braincells to come up with the games himself. He was a sweet boy but seemed to attracted mud like a magnet attracts iron fillings.

James was an old soul. Not like Wensleydale who had an old head on young shoulders, James was an old soul in the scenes that he had been here before multiple times and was taking the scenic route. He was the opposite to Adam. Whereas Adam would talk, James would listen.

They where playing in there hid out, which was an old chalk quarry, it made an excellent base, or castle or space ship for what ever game they where playing at the time. The large throne covered in knickknacks that sat over the hollow belonged to Adam. He was the leader. The other four had there own seats at the four corners of the cut out chalk. A small plastic table was currently sat in the centre of the hollow. It was filled with sweets from the corner shop in the village.

James was rearranging his collection of knickknacks around his seat. His favourite where the two skulls one of a fox and the other that they though was possibly a rabbit but it was still disputed. The front of the mandible and nose had not been found. Adam was convinced that it was a giant Rat. this had lead two a three day hunt for the monstrous Wererat.

Wensleydale walked over from the area they called the alchemy lab. He was holding one of the fossil Trilobite James had been given. He passed the table and picked up the packed of M&Ms. He handed the fossil back to the other boy and took a handful of sweet out of the bag before offering some to him.

Pepper and Brian where practising sword fighting with the base’s armoury of finely crafted sticks. A few wooded swords where beginning to be buried under the leaf litter. The sticks sat better in their hands and had a bit more heft to them then the premade wooden ones. They were talking as they as they fought.

Five bikes lay abandoned at the mouth of the pit. They had been discussing whether or not the two birthday boys would get what he wanted for their birthdays. Adam wanted a dog for his birthday. Pepper was convinced that he wouldn’t get one. Brian though that he might, considering what his dad was like.

Adam sat looking over his kingdom. He was proud of his little gang, they only one in the village though Adam sometimes thought it would be fun if there was a rival gang about. Adam owned this land, he loved it. All he need to make it perfect was a dog.

* * *

The hell hound prowled though the woods. It was following a scent that it had know since it creation. Its large slobbering jaws gnashed at the world. He was ready to stand by his masters side and devour anyone who will get in their way. He slowed as a new smell caught his attention. Small, innocent and … fluffy.

* * *

“You’re not going to get a dog Adam, I wanted a bike for my birthday and my mum got me one but it was old and had a basket. I wanted a red one. Like the one you got.” Pepper was wailing on Brian her frustration evident as the muddy boy trying to defend himself.

“See, Adams dad got him a bike because he kept his room clean for a week. So its not such a stupid idea for Adam to get a dog.” Brian said backing away and dropping his stick into the pile other weaponized foliage. Pepper huffed and threw hers stick at the pile, smiling slightly as the pile fell over.

“What I mean was you might get a dog, but its not the type of dog you want.” She stormed over to the sweet table and picked up a cookie that James mum had made for them. “That is true, your dad is not a mind reader Adam,” this was Wensleydale he was looking though James collection with him and munching their way though the bag of M&Ms

* * *

Over the hill a adorable Labrador pup was bouncing around in the leaves. He had a bright red bow around its neck. One though bumped around in its every emptier mind. “Find Adam” it was a small though but it had been placed in it mind from the moment of its creation. This was however before leaves got involved. The puppy chased the shadows that danced on the forest floor its mission completely forgotten. Suddenly a smell of sulfur made it pause and perk it head up. It sniffed again trying to find the source of the new and interesting smell. Its tail began to wag. The wagging stopped and the dog froze, a low growl rumbled behind him. A primal instanced kicked in and the puppy dropped to the ground making itself small.

The large Hell hound stepped out from behind a tree. It eyes glowing red and jaws slobbering. Might as well have a snack before finding his master.

* * *

“What type of dog would you want Adam,” James asked his friend looking up at him on his throne. Adam leaned back and thought.

“A big puppy, like a massive or a bull dog,” suggested Brian he was sat on the tire throne he had made for himself in his corner. It had two plastic milk create on either side for arm rests.

“No,” dismissed Adam glaring down at him. Pepper laughed leaning over the side of her seat that was beside James. Her seat was next to the weapons rack, that was in a pile at the moment. It was a stainless-steel lawn chair with half a wooden shield to replaces the missing back.

“you don’t want one of those little rats do you Adam?” she giggled madly leaning back in her chair.

“No,” Adam said again. He played with the rope swing that was next to his throne. “I was a dog, not a ratty little dog maybe a ratter dog, you know a terrier or something. A dog you can have fun with.”

* * *

Behind the hill the hell hound lunged at the other dog. Suddenly instead of tasting blood and flesh in it mouth, ribbon filled it vision. The puppy yelped and jumped away from the suddenly smaller than it Hell hound. The ribbon that the other dog was griping pulled on it neck. Dropping it head and shuffling backwards the Labrador puppy managed to wiggle free of the ribbon. The puppy all thought forgotten in leu of running as far away form the other dog as possible. It took off towards the village where it would be picked up by a passing family in a few hours. The puppy was named lucky and live out the rest of it life with a family with three kids and one other older dog.

The rather shocked hell hound was having to come to terms with the reality of not being a big dog any more. It whimpered to itself. It hoped up onto the lip of the chalk quarry and looked down into the pit. from across the hollow Adams eyes met the dogs. And the dog new. It had found its master.

“look it’s a dog,” called Wensleydale the rest of them looked around. The dog leapt into the pit and ran full pelt towards Adam leaping into his lap.

“I knew it,” shouted Adam fussing the dog that was trying to lick every inch of his faces, “I knew I would get a dog for my birthday,” Pepper glared up at Adam,

“How do you know it was for you, it could have been for James. Its his birthday too.” James shrugged not really bother if Adam got a dog and he didn’t.

“I don’t know Pepper, my dad isn’t like Mr Crowley, it might just be a stray,” Pepper looked over at the smallest member of the gang.

“yeah it could be a stray,” she says. Adam laughed and stood up holding the dog under his arm as he still trying to lick his face.

“well he jumped into my lap so he must be mine.” Pepper still slightly annoyed on James behalf pouted. Wensleydale looked up at their leader and asked a very important question although it wouldn’t seem like it at the time.

“what are you going to name him?” he asked and the hell hound looked up at his master. This was the moment this was what he had been waiting for. Being names and claimed by his master.

“I think I will name him…,” the world held it breath, “Dog,”

* * *

**London,**

Back in London the Bentley tour through traffic. Aziraphale had his eyes closed and was gripping the door so tight his knuckles where turning white. Crowley was almost hissing with rage. He was thinking back to the night he had dropped the baby off. He remembers the two stupid nuns and the terrifying mother superior, there was someone else. He could remember a horrid yellow jumper and an insistent voice trying to rope him into a conversation. He mostly remembered looking down at Adam sleeping in the new crib, which was straight out of the Addams family, and having a mile freak out over the fact that in a night he had become a dad.

“What are we going to do?” Aziraphale asked nervously. Crowley swerved around a pedestrian trying to cross a zebra crossing. The man swore at him but Crowley has already moved on.

Crowley was about to answer when a sudden new scent smacked him in the face. The car swerved and Azriaphale had to swallow a scream. Crowley pulled the car back on to the right side of the road.

“Did you smell that?” Crowley blurted out looking over at the angel

“Oh its my new cologne, my barber suggested…” Aziraphale flushed slightly as he explained his vanity and hide the sight flutter of his heart as Crowley noticed. It only took him three weeks.

“Not you!” Crowley growled, Aziraphale visibly deflated. Crowley looked back at the road, “I know what you smell like,”

Azriaphale brighten again.

“The boy has found the dog. Or the dog has found the boy. Ether way he has named it,” Crowley continued.

The colour drained form Aziraphale faces again. He sank back into his seat

“Welcome to the end times,” he muttered.


	3. Wednesday evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay im going to change the update day to Tuesday. i had this chapter ready to go but when up loading it i tweeked the ending. then ended up rewriting the whole thing.

**Tadfield, 2011,**

The house had been abandoned and virtually falling down, when the decrepit for-sale sign had been replaces with a sold one. The remaining five acres of farmland that include the farm house or what remains of it had been sold after twenty years. And the workmen had arrived on the site the same day, much to the surprise of the majority of Tadfield. The rampant speculation about what was going to be built on the site of the old Hogsback farm had started circling soon after. According to old Mrs Jasmin, it was going to be made into a hotel, just like the convent over the hill was going to be.

From what Mr. Young (who lived in number 6 Hogs lane, just across form the building site) had gathered, from a very brief discussion with one of the workmen, was that the old farm was being made into a multi-million-pound mansion though couldn’t find out much more than that. Mr. Young had noticed that the workman had seemed slightly off, as if he didn’t quite know why he was on this job or who was paying for everything. Despite this however, the workman had worked extremely quickly, dozens working together with an odd synchronicity which seemed almost unnatural. The residents of Tadfield, however, ignored this. The human mind had a great talent for ignoring what it doesn’t what to accept. The whole building had shot up in a matter of weeks and by the end of the month, the house was structurally stable again and the interior was being worked on. Two weeks after that the builders and designers, to a man, had left completely and a moving truck rumbled up the narrow lanes of Tadfield being led by a jet-black Bentley.

Mr. Young had watched them turn into the short drive to the newly named, Number 9 Hoggs Lane. He had summoned his wife who had wished to be informed of their arrive and like a military general given the order to advances she had nodded. She rushed back into the kitchen to make some food. She started making a lasagne then change her mind, worried that they might be vegetarian or vegan, so she made gluten free vegan cookies as well. She packed the lasagna in tinfoil the cookies in a Tupperware box and made a large flask of tea. She scooped James up, who had been playing quietly in his playpen, and stuffed him into his pram along with all the food. She called up the stairs for his older sister to come down and marched out of the door and headed up the road. Mr Young took his daughters hand and followed his wife. The moving van had left half an hour before.

Crowley stood in the now quiet house. Boxes were everywhere. Adam was singing to himself as he systematically removed everything from one box and placed it a various place around the room. A small story book tucked under the leaves of a plant sitting in the corner of the room, trying to make itself disappear. A sippy cup on the coffee table. A small raggedy duck, that had lost all its stuffing years ago, sat at the foot of the sofa. A small scatter cushion places deliberate in the centre of the room. Adam was settling in to his new home by spreading his normal chaos.

The three-year-old was still in his dragon onesie. He had refused to change this morning and in the madness that was moving Crowley didn’t have the energy to argue with him about why shoes and sock where necessary in day to day life. The living room had all its furniture, all new, ordered straight out of a catalogue and delivered here. Crowley hadn’t bother to bring any of the stuff form the Mayfair flat as he would still be using it. Most of the boxes contained Adam’s stuff or paperwork to and from Hell. The moving truck had mostly been hired to move Crowley’s vast array of plants.

The only room that had any evidence of human life in it was Adam’s bedroom and nursery. Crowley had actually put some thought into the lay out of that spaces. It had everything a growing lad would want or need (including its own swing with foam matting beneath, a hidden room behind a bookshelf and a large alcove with a window looking out over the large garden). The walks had a large mural of planes through the ages and there was plenty of shelf space for all the toys and thing that Adam would collect. He had placed Adam’s collections of stuffed duck toys on the shelfs already. The house had several other rooms not just the large spacious but minimalistic room that was for Crowley to ignore his problem in. One room at the end of the hall was hand crafted for the one person that refused to join them. Large soft chairs, plenty of bookshelf’s and a brand-new wood burner. Crowley dropped down onto the sofa and held his head in his hands, a depressed sigh on his lips. He’d never admit it to Aziraphale, but the angel’s rejection had been crushing.

Crowley and Aziraphale rarely fought truly. There last big fight had been over holy water. Looking back, Crowley could see the misunderstanding for what it was and was even more grateful for Aziraphale even considering getting him some. But this time it was his fault and he knew it. Leaving London seemed to mean Crowley was backing out of the deal they had made when Warlock had been a baby. They were both meant to keep an eye on the child. But Aziraphale and Crowley hadn’t counted one thing, Adam. Crowley hadn’t realised how much he would come to care for the boy. So much so that he risked the wrath of hell and moved out to the country to keep the child safe. But at what cost to the arrangement. Aziraphale had been livid that Crowley was moving. He has refused to come with them. They had argued right up to Crowley getting in the car and driving away. Adam had cried all the way here, wailing about how he didn’t want to leave papa Azzy behind. The child thought they would never see him again and, in the rage, he was in Crowley was ready to believe that too.

* * *

After a stop at MacDonald, Adam had been gleefully distracted by his happy meal toy and now the three-year-old had forgotten all his worries about leaving potential father figures in a far-off city in favour of stacking books meant for the library room next door. The grandfather clock, that had been left in the hall by the moving men, struck six. Crowley shook himself out of his moping and scooped up his son. Best get him ready for bed. Adam curls into his shoulder and Crowley carried him up the stairs. “This is all for you,” he thinks. I hope I made the right decision.

“Look!” Adam shouts pointing over Crowley’s shoulder when they are halfway up the stairs. Crowley turned to look at the large dark oak door with a glass pain in it. There were figures moving on the other side. Fearing the worst Crowley quickly darted up the last few steps on the curving staircase. The doorbell rang but Hastur’s gruff voice didn’t follow. Crowley knew this was no guarantee of safety.

The figures stood out the front. three of them. Crowley took Adam down the hall and placed him on his bed. He darted out before the small child could follow him and snapped a sigil into life on the door. The intricate squiggle would stop any occult forces from entering the room. He checked his watch before heading downstairs again. The doorbell rang again,

“All right, all right I’m coming,” he called walking up to the door his phone in his hand just in case he had to make a quick getaway.

Opening the door revealed a family that if he should take a guess at it would be called the Smiths. The father stood with his arm around the mother who was stood Infront of a push chair with a small child in it. A young girl with pig tails stood on her father’s other side. All of them excepted the child grinned madly like Crowley was taking their Christmas card photo. Crowley raised an eyebrow at this, luckily his glasses covered the surprise in his eyes.

“Can I help you?” he asked in his most dismissive voice. The father stuck his hand out that wasn’t around his wife. In times gone by, that hand would have been in the position of a large pipe.

“Hello, we are the Youngs,” he said waiting for Crowley to take his hand. “We live across the road,” Crowley thought about it, he really did think about just shutting the door and going about his day. But on the other hand, he was going to live here now. It’s not like the apartment in Mayfair where his neighbours where American business men who weren’t there half the time. So, he reached out and carefully took the other man’s hand.

“Crowley,” Crowley said suspiciously. The other man shook his hand enthusiastically.

“You look familiar, have we met before,” He laughed merrily,

“I’m sorry I meet a lot of people in my work,” Crowley said. Mr. Young was about to talk when Adam ran into the back of Crowley’s legs. (prevents occult forces from “entering” nothing about leaving)

Adam looked up at the Youngs, standing there awkwardly clutching at his father’s trousers. Mr. Young's could clearly see that the boy was wearing a little reptile themes onesie (he could just make out fabric wings flopping out from Adams back so hedged he bets that it was probably a dragon).

"He's a cute one, isn't he dear? Dear?" Mr. Young turned to his wife to find her was crouching down, near face to face with the miniature dragon.

"He's absolutely adorable" she managed. Mr. Young looked at his own son, in the hopes that the boy didn't realize how smitten his mother obviously was with Crowley’s boy. The Youngs son however was already in front of both Mr. Crowley and the baby dragon.

The boy stuck his hand out mimicking what his father had done. Adam looked up at his dad, Crowley just raised an eyebrow. Taking that as an ok Adam shook the other boy’s hand excitedly

“Oh, aren’t you a little cutey,” Mrs Young cooed, Adam gave her an angelic smile, his dimpled on full show. The little devil thought Crowley looked down at his son.

“How did you get out of your room?” he asked. Adam turned his angelic smile on his father in an attempt to get the same reaction. It didn’t work.

“What’s this little darling’s name?” Mrs Young asked, standing up.

“Huh? oh this is Adam,” Crowley introduced his son,

“Hello Adam, this is James,”

James was shoved forward towards the other child. “You look about the same age, why don’t you go and play while we talk to your daddy?”.

Adam, who was very behind this idea grabbed the other child by his brown woolly jumper and pulled him down the hall and up the stairs. The young girl gave the adults a look but deeming exploring the house under the guise of looking after her little brother more interesting. she followed the two boys up the stairs.

“Fine,” Crowley said stepping back from the door so the other humans can walk inside.

“Wow,” Mr. Young said looking around the small entrance hall of the home, “I love what you have done with the places, you have sort of mixed modern and rustic, I like it.”

Crowley shrugged and walked down the hall to the lounge.

“We brought some food,” Mrs Young happily said holding up the lasagna. “We didn’t know if you had eaten and moving can be very tiring,” As she was talking, Mrs Young took the dish into the kitchen and placed it on the counter.

“That is very thoughtful, but Adam had a Happy Meal on the way down here.” Crowley tried to dismiss the woman

“Well then you can shove it in the fridge and have it tomorrow,” she chirped. The tin foil was pulled tight around the baking dish and was placed in the half empty fridge. Crowley didn’t stop her. It was free food after all.

Mr. Young was peeking out into the orangery where a number of plants were waiting to be places. They all suddenly stood to attention.

“So, where did you move from?” he asked. Crowley was watching him with his unblinking eyes (luckily, they were hidden behind his glasses, but Mr. Young seemed to feel the gaze on his shoulders.)

“London,” Crowley said and was willing to leave it at that but to ward off further questions he added “Mayfair,”.

Mr. Young nodded, slightly impressed. Mrs Young peeked around at her husband. After being married and having two kid with someone, some couples achieve a leave of co-existence where they can have a full conversation with just a look. This was happening here, where Mrs. Young said “I’m Just going to check on the kids, be back in a sec” what she was really saying directly to Mr. Young was “I’m going to snoop around upstairs, be nice and don’t alienate our new neighbours.”

And so when Mr Young said “Yes Dear,” what he was really saying was “Yes Dear,”

Mr. Young gave his wife a smile and a small nod showing that he had understood her. Mrs Young disappeared up the large staircase following the sound of childish laughter.

Crowley huffed; might as well befriend these people they could be good alias in this community. Only eight years left anyway. He could stick it out of eight years. He had slept for a century. He walked over to a box that sat next to a large antique globe that was a whisky cabinet. The contents of said cabinet still in the box.

“Drink?” he asked Mr. Young who was trying to see out into the garden. He turned around and grinned at Crowley,

“Can’t say no to that,” he chuckled walking over to the Demon. He was handed a crystal glass that had been retrieved form one of the boxes. A bottle with a fancy Picasso like label claimed its contents The Macallan Valerio Adami from 1948. Mr. Young had never heard of that brand before, he was more of a beer man.

Crowley took the bottle into the kitchen and Mr. Young followed him. Crowley used the ice machine on the fridge to drop a few cubes of ice into both their glasses.

“I’m Arthur by the way,” Mr. Young said suddenly realizing that he hadn’t introduced himself by names, “My wife’s name is Deirdre and the girl is Sofie, you met James.”.

Crowley grunted at this. It was getting late in the day and he had gotten used to just him and Adam in the house.

“Anthony. Anthony J Crowley,” he said slightly regretting give out this information. He filled Mr. Youngs glass up with the whisky.

“Well then Anthony, what do you do for a living?”

“Classified,” Crowley said taking a gulp of his drink draining half of it. Mr. Young paused in his sip to look at his companion.

“Oh, international man of mystery then?” he asked as a joke, Crowley shrugged again.

“You could say that,”.

Mr. Young laughed thinking it was a joke.

“So is Adam’s mother around,” he thought it was an innocent question, but the way Crowley flinched it might have been a little more personal than it was meant to be.

“She isn’t around, in fact I have only met her at work meetings,”

Mr. Young frowned for a second trying to work out how that would work. Crowley was thinking about the slightly pointy nose of Mrs Downing and how he was glad Adam hadn’t inherited it. That and her annoying voice.

“Huh, ok,” Mr. Young said his confusion was clear on his faces. He took a large sip of his whisky and coughed; it was strong stuff.

“He is adopted,” Crowley clarified.

Understanding dawned on Mr. Youngs face. He snapped his fingers and pointed at Crowley,

“St Beryl Hospital,” he said, Crowley felt ice in his gut, “That was where I know you from. It must have been. Not many people are called Crowley. Or was its Master Crowley, very fancy.”.

Crowley was watching the other man for any sign that he had witnessed the switch. He was over halfway through his drink now. And starting to slur his words.

“That must have been when I was picking up Adam,” Crowley said trying to seem innocent. Mr. Young, now hopped up on this information, was about to talk again when his wife called “Arthur?” down the stairs. Both men looked around. Mr. Young was walking down the stairs with her son in one arm and Adam in the other. Sofie followed behind her. James was drooping in her arms. Adam was still bouncing but his eyes were beginning to drop. Crowley looked at the clock in the hall. It was quarter too seven and well past Adams bedtime. And he still needed a bath and a bedtime story.

“I think it’s time to head home. It was lovely to meet you Mr. Crowley,” she said putting Adam down who proceeded to walk over to his dad and puts is arms up in the universal sign for wanting to be picked up. Crowley scooped up his son who dropped his head onto his shoulder and waved at James who was nearly asleep. Mr. Young downed the rest of his drink and held back a cough.

“Well it was nice to meet you again Anthony,” he said stick his hand out to shake again. Crowley shook it and watched the now leaning towards drunk man.

“Like wise, sorry I didn’t remember. Last few years have been very busy.” Mr. Young waved it off wobbly. He slipped his arm around his wife and they made their way out of the door. Mrs Young put the now full asleep James into his pram and began to push him down the gravel drive. Mr. Young waves again and, wobbling slightly, followed her his daughter holding his hand.

* * *

After Crowley had gotten Adam in bed, he walked back into the lounge. He threw open the glass doors to the orangery and flipped on the light. It had gotten dark outside. He staked into the room. All the plants quaked in their pots. A new apple tree was sat in the centre of the room. Crowley was planning on planting it there. His eyes locked on the plant. He slithered forward and grabbed it by the thin trunk. He yanked it out of its pot and dragged it towards the garden door. It left a trail of dirt behind. The plants in the room shivered thankful that it’s not them being dragged out. Once in the garden Crowley grabbed a spade and marched towards the centre of the lawn. The plants out here quaked as well, but they hadn’t been full exposed to the wrath for Crowley yet, but fear of the unknown is still fear. Dropping the tree to shiver on the floor Crowley stabs the spade into the grass and tears up a sod of earth.

“We are starting again” he muttered to himself, shovelling earth out of the hole he is creating. He dug down enough that the tree could fit. He shoved the tree in in the hole where it tried to stay as still as possible. Crowley poured the dirt back over the roots.

“We are starting again,” he mutters repeatedly, he looked up to the star filled sky and screamed,

“Do you hear me! We are starting again and this time we are going to get it right!”

* * *

**Tadfield, 2019,**

It was getting dark when Crowley finally got back to the house in Tadfield. The drive back had taken longer than he expected, the traffic on the M25 was glorious. He had to feel proud about that, even if it frustrated him no end when he was stuck in it. He dropped Aziraphale off at his book shop after Warlock’s party. Aziraphale had handed Crowley a brown paper wrapped present for Adam. He said to send the boy his love, but he really needed to make some phone calls to the higherups. report in about the dog and all that. Crowley had snorted at this slipping back into his car, waiting till the roar of the engine deafening any further conversation between them.

“He’s your son too,” Crowley muttered, pulling out onto the road.

* * *

He had stopped to pick up a couple of pizzas for dinner, Pepperoni for Adam and a Hawaiian for himself. Crowley liked to say it was to encourage discourse and to further the widespread human argument of whether pineapple should go on pizza, but in truth, he just enjoyed it. He also stopped to picked up a caterpillar cake from the supermarket, Aziraphale said it was a human tradition though Crowley thought he had gotten the idea from the Youngs. Crowley hates that he had to miss so much of Adam’s birthday but with the apocalypse drawing ever closer, he had his work cut out for him to find a way to stop it.

As Crowley pulled the in the Bentley into the drive, he saw that Adam has left his bike leaning against the wall by the front door. After parking his car in the garage, Crowley realized that the bike in the drive wasn’t the one which he had got Adam last month. This bike was slightly rusted and had a basket attached. After a moment’s thought, Crowley recognized it was one of the bikes belonging to one of Adam’s friends, they were always riding about together. It had been why Crowley had got Adam the brand-new bike in the first place. That and he had kept his room clean for a week, ish, more like three days. Crowley shrugged to himself (Crowley was an expert at shrugging, he could shrug in the same way other demons could lurk).

It was up to Adam what he does with his stuff Crowley thought to himself. He looked around the front yard, there were no other bikes around. He was tired as it was, so Crowley snapped his fingers in the vague direction of the bike which pushed itself upright and wobbled its way through the second door of the large converted barn garage. It then settled itself in the bike rack against the far wall. There was a half wall dividing the Bentleys parking area from where the bikes and numbers other outside toys where stored. Including but not limited to; a quadbike, an electric scooter, three half-made go carts kits, one premade go-cart never used and one completed go-cart that looked like it had been through several wars and had been left buried under a muddy field for 50 years. Half the toys where still in their boxes, Crowley had a bad habit of just buying Adam anything he showed remote interested in. Adam much preferred to make his toys or use one until it broke and then try to fix it.

* * *

Gathered up the food from the back of the Bentley, Crowley headed quietly inside. He could hear Adam playing his new video game in the living room. Walking silently up the corridor, Crowley leaned against the door frame and smiled. Adam was sat on the floor with his back to the sofa, tapping away at the controller, while a small black & white terrier slept beside him with all four legs in the air. A bag of sweets sat empty next to him. A can of pop on the coffee table. The large 98-inch TV took up most of the far wall. The rest of the wall was covering in DVD racks for all of Adams games and films.

Crowley waited a moment, enjoying the image. Adam hadn’t noticed him yet. Crowley slipped into the kitchen and placed the pizzas and cake down. He checked his phone; it was full of angry texted from Beth who was currently saved as ‘Demon Nanny’ on his phone. It was an improvement from, “This Bitch”. There was about twelve text all asking what was going to happen now. They had been reduced to angry devil face emojis. He swiped them away and started shuffling through the cupboards for a candle to go on the cake. He made enough of a racket that he heard the game music stop and hushed whispering coming from the living room. Crowley glances suspiciously towards the room, he had found one candle. Adam suddenly appeared in the doorway to the kitchen looking as innocent as he could.

“Hiya Dad” he said rushing up to him and hugging him around the middle. Crowley had never really gotten used to hugs, so just gave him a pat on the back.

“Happy birthday Adam” he said but it held suspicion, what had he done in the living room? The small dog that had been with him earlier was nowhere to be seen. Huh maybe he hid it. Think you can hide something form me little one, think again. Crowley grinned wickedly and scooped up the pizza and the now unwrapped cake.

“Let’s eat in the lounge. I know you got some new games you can play,” Crowley pretended not to notices the visible flinch from his son,

“Err, ok,” Adam said following behind his dad nervously. They walked into the living room and shock horror; no dog could be seen. Crowley scanned the area the large winged back chair close to the fireplaces, that was normally reserved for Azriaphale, seemed to have a dark shadow hiding under it. How poetic, the demon thought. Adam stood beside him watching him carefully. Crowley dumped the pizza boxes on the coffee table placing the cake in the centre lighting the single candle on top with a snap.

Adam hoped up onto the sofa waiting for his dad.

“Make a wish, it won’t come true,” Crowley said sitting down next to his son. Adam laughed at his Dad; other people didn’t understand his dry humour. He leaned forward and blows out the candle. Crowley caved, bored of this game now,

“Here open this,” he hands Adam the brown paper package from Aziraphale. Adam tore it open and a red lead and collar drop out. Started, Adam looks up at his dad with wide eyes.

“So, I can keep him!” he shouted jumping up. Crowley draped himself over the back of the sofa. He was trying to act cool but the delight in Adams voice forced a small smile to pull at the corners of his mouth.

“Of course, you can keep him. Do you really think a dog would appear out of nowhere on your birthday? Walk right up to you and that it wasn’t for you?”

Crowley would regret this statement later

“Let see him then,” Crowley continued.

Adam was positively vibrating with joy, he turned and waved at the armchair and the small terroir crawled out. It kept it head low eyeing Crowley. Not what he thought the angel would give his son, he was picturing something a bit bigger and more slobbery. Adam seemed pleased so it didn’t matter.

Adam scooped up the dog that made a ruff sound as it lay on its back in his master’s arms. Dropping down on the sofa next to Crowley, Adam put the dog in his lap.

“Thank you, dad,” he said softly.

Crowley wanted so dearly to claim this for himself but no matter his nature he could never lie to his son for long.

“Don’t thank me, it was Aziraphale,”.

Adam smiled at the revelation.

“You can thank him on Sunday,” Crowley continued, though had a sense of sudden dread as he remembered that there might not be a Sunday. He looked over at his son who was scratching his new pets’ belly. The soppy animal was stretched out in an unnatural position in the boy’s lap.

Crowley swallowed, he tried thinking of brighter things, Adam’s birthday was more important. Especially as it his last one.

“What are you going to name it?” Crowley asked swiping the collar from the coffee table. He placed his thumb over the golden name tag.

Adam looked thoughtfully at the dog in front of him.

“I was thinking of naming him Dog.” He said simply.

“Dog?” asked Crowley, giving the boy a sceptical look.

“Yeah, it’s easy to remember and not complicated.”.

Crowley shrugged, it was Adam’s birthday, so anything goes,

“Well you can always change it later if you want to.” Crowley rubbed his thumb over the tag and “Dog. If found, return to Adam Crowley, Number 9 Hoggs lane, Tadfield” appeared on the collar’s name tag. He handed it to Adam to place around Dog’s neck. Dog barked happily at his new jewels.

* * *

A few hours later after most of the pizza and cake had been finished, Crowley sat on the sofa, half dozing. They had watched a film and now Adam had returned to playing his new game.

Adam was very good at video games. He didn’t really like the war based one, but the skill games that take practices to get right, he loved them. Crowley, who hadn’t spent long periods of time with children before Adam, didn’t realize that it wasn’t normal for a kid to play a game for a few hours and the score counter runs out of zeros. Adam was sat on his dad’s feet where he was stretched out on the sofa. Dog dozed on the floor in front of him.

After a while, the sound of clicking stopped and the overly happy music of the game die. Adam sat back and looked at the black screen on the TV.

“Thanks for the birthday stuff Dad,” he said in an almost whisper

Crowley opened an eye lazily at his son.

“It’s my pleasure” he said with a smile, “I’m just sorry I couldn’t spend more time with you today.”.

Adam shrugged, “That’s okay, I know work has been really busy. Azzy said his job has been super busy too.”

You don’t know the half of it, thought Crowley glumly,

“Dad?” Adam said suddenly, as if he’d been waiting to ask something for a while.

“Hmm?”

“What would you change about the world if you could? If you had the power to do anything you wanted.”

“if this is about birthday wished I have told you they are a load of bull...”

“No” Adam cut him off, “it’s just a question,”

The demon thought for a moment before replying.

“Nothing” he said.

“Huh? Really?” Adam was surprised. He had expected his Dad to have a whole list of things. Everything from traffic, to the weather, to Aziraphale not coming to stay with them (or visiting more at least).

“No,” said Crowley, adjusting himself into a more comfortable position, which would be considered unnatural to any human who hadn’t live with him for all of their life. “You can’t go around building a better world for people. Only people can build a better world for people. Otherwise it just a cage.” He’d read that in a book Aziraphale had let him borrow once, it had witches Crowley thought.

“That’s very diplomatic of you, you must be tired.” Adam teased and leaned back on the sofa, poked his dad with a socked foot. Crowley grumbled and pushed the foot away. Children, they are not worth the effort.

“Rough day?” Adam asked when Crowley shoved his foot back at him.

“You could say that,” the demon said pushing his glasses off his face and rubbing his eyes. He placed the glasses on the end table behind him. A blue spray bottle sat there. It was from Tesco’s and slightly worse that the one back in London. Adam wasn’t bother by his dad’s eyes, they had always been like that so Adam considered them normal (or as normal as yellow reptilian eyes were). Although it had led to some interesting conversation with teachers over Adams drawing of his family. His stick dad having yellow snake eye had raised some questions.

“If it was that Hastur guy, you should just tell him to shove it,” Adam said bluntly, poking Dog with his foot now. The animal huffed in its sleep and rolled over.

Crowley let out an overly dramatic gasp, staring at his son in fake horror.

“Who taught you to use such language young man?”.

Adam laughed at the hypocritical nature of this.

“What it’s not like I told you to tell him to Fuck off,”.

Crowley shrieked at this and grabbed the spray bottle. He shot two fine mists of water out at Adam, who yelped and dived off the sofa for cover. Dog was up and ready to attack in a second. But stood down running to his master’s side when he heard the laugher.

“Bad. Bad child. You keep that up your going in the waste disposal,” Crowley grinned as he sat up on the sofa and peeked around the arm to get at Adam again.

Adam darted out and ducked behind Aziraphale’s chair.

“I’m too big to fit in there now.” he laughed peeking over the top of the well-padded chair and barely missing getting a mouth full of rainwater. “You hear that plants.” He shouted, “Grow big and strong then he can’t destroy you,” Adam shouted this last bit so loudly that the plants in the orangery would hear him. Crowley had slithered with a natural speed around the furnisher and appeared behind his son. He scooped Adam up, hefting him over his shoulder. Adam shrieked with laughed waving his arms and legs knowing that his dad won’t drop him. Dog jumped up and down on the floor, barking excitedly at the commotion.

“Inspiring revolution in my subjects, are you? My, you are quite the little demon,” he dropped Adam at the bottom of the stairs, “a demon that is up past his bed time. Now off you go,”

“Come on dad, it’s my birthday,” Adam pleaded standing on the bottom step,

“Yeah and its pasted ten so you have been up an extra hour there is your birthday treat. Now, go get ready for bed,” Adam pouted but relented trotting up the stairs Dog on his heels.

Crowley sauntered into his home offices. It was similar to the one in Mayfair just without the massive spinning doors. He kicked his feet up on his desk after flopping down into his throne. He huffed.

Now. How was he going to get out of this mess?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book Crowley is quoting is Terry Pratchett "Witches Abroad" and if you haven't read it i would highly recommencement it.


	4. Thursday, Two day before the end of the world.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been edited with the help of the amazing KalavelLoki, thank you for your insight on Spanish Culture :)

**Tadfield, Oxfordshire, England:**

It was hot, so they decided to get ice-cream. The little corner shop has a rudimentary ice-cream parlour which served the three basic flavours. Vanilla, chocolate and strawberry. This cause some discussion over what other types of flavours there where. Brian began to list of the mixtures of the three when Wensleydale claimed that, according to his cousin, America had 39 different types.

As the Them left the store, Adam untied Dog from the fences and began to lead his little gang down the road. It had been less than two minutes but Brian was already covered in melted icecream that coated his mouth and was making a definite effort to completely cover his shirt too.

“It must be the way he eats it”, Adam thought to himself. “It takes real skill to get ice-cream over all your cloths in such a short amount of time.”

“I can’t believe your dad got you a dog.” Pepper said between bites. She had still been suspicious about the creature. Dog trotted along ignoring her in favour of sniffing everything he could. The world smelt so much more interesting in this form.

“It wasn’t my dad.” Adam replied, licking his ice cream “It was Azzy.”

“He is basically your dad though.” Pepper insisted. The Them knew about Mr Fell. He lived in London and had a books shop. He was also a teacher that made the group of children substitutes when he asked what they were doing. He would come visit Adam and his dad, but they would mostly meet him every other Sunday in London for lunch. They when to this places that Adam called the Rizz. None of the Them had heard of it. It only served the three types of ice-cream so it can’t be that fancy.

“Not really.” Adam muttered into his snack “He’s more like Dad’s best friend, they’re really close. Like Pepper and James close,”

“Mr. Crowley calls Mr. Fell “Angel,”. My dad calls my mum Angel. So maybe Mr. Fell and your dad are going out” Wensleydale piped up.

“My dad calls my mum dear, that’s what Mr. Fell calls Adam’s dad, I have heard him, so maybe they are already married,” Brian replies, ice cream now dripping from his shirt onto the pavement. A napkin fell unnoticed from his pocket and lodged itself in a nearby bush.

“They don’t ware wedding rings,” Wensleydale pointed out. Brian frowned; he hadn’t thought of this.

“Well my mum calls my dad dear so maybe they are both his dads.” James said adding his penny to this conversation. “You don’t have to be married to be a dad” was the smallest members logic. Pepper nodded next to James supporting his point. Adam pulled a face looking back at his friends,

“What does it matter if he is my dad or not? He gave me a dog so I’ll call him what every he wants to be called.”

Pepper rolled her eyes at the boys, the possibility of Adam having multiple dads was a silly idea. Who would want two dads? One mum was better, hers was the best.

Dog spied next doors cat sat on a stone wall. It watched them as they got closer. His master was still talking to his friends. They didn’t seem like evil minions he had expected to be surrounding his master but who was he to judge them. He was now less than a foot high and was a sap of belly rubs.

As the cat got closer Dog felt a deep primal urge to growl, to roar at the other animal and bite its head off. However, without the order from his master to kill, he couldn’t do so. Instead he settled with an earth-shaking roar to show his superiority. He lunged forward and the demonic growl was truncated by his new red lead, the tag on the collar jingled merrily. Adam pulled him back as the cat hissed.

“Dog no, don’t bark at cats.” Adam commanded. Dog gave a dejected woof and circled around his master’s legs. He would have to look into this “cat” entity later. Maybe when he wasn’t restrained.

Pepper watches the black cat jump off the wall and saunter off. It was probably off to play cat chess with the rest of the neighbourhood cats. With a swish of its tail and a neatly placed bush the cat vanishes without a trace. A though bubbles up in her head.

“A witch had moved into old Jasmines cottage.” She announced to the group. He mum had been told By Mrs Henderson who did the cleaning at their house. Apparently when she was cleaning the cottage, she had seen magazines that where based around the occult and witchcraft. Pepper had no idea what the Occult was and she wasn’t going to ask. She was meant to be doing her homework.

“How is she a witch?” Wensleydale ask, carefully nibbling on his ice cream cone.

“She reads Witch Magazines.” replied Pepper firmly, confident that would prove her point.

“How are they witchy?” asked Brian, turning to walk backwards as he spoke.

Pepper realised that she was losing ground in this argument. Tried to think of anything that would make a magazine witchy, having never seen them she didn’t have a clue.

“They just are, okay.” She growled at Brian.

“Mr Shadwell says they have an extra nipple? Or something like that.” Adam interjected. He wanted to hear more about this witch. Mr Shadwell is always talking about the forces of evil and witches. Adam has never seen a real one before.

“An identifying mark.” James suggested next to Pepper. He had nearly finished his ice cream. Wensleydale frowned. Him and James shared a lot of interests and books, he hadn’t read about witches having and identifying mark in any of them. They were mostly described as green and having warts.

“You mean like a birthmark or a scar?” he asked, James nodded wiping his hands on a dirty tissue he fished from his pocket. His ice cream now gone.

“I have a scar on the back of my head.” Adam mused shoving the remains of his cone in his mouth.

“Maybe that where you where dropped by a witch when you were little.” James laughed.

Adam turned around to give him a half-hearted glare.

“Why would she drop me?” he asked.

“She was kidnapping you from your crib. Witches do that. But when she was flying away on her broom you slipped out of her grip.” Pepper was rather taken with this idea.

James smiled liking how this theory was growing. Brian was wiping his sticky hands on his trousers. None of the melted ice-cream was coming off, his hand was just getting covered in dirt.

“That’s silly. Why would she kidnap Adam?” Wensleydale complained but to no use, when Pepper had an idea, she wouldn’t let it go. “its not like she was going to eat him. Babies are mostly fat.” The group gave him a slight worried look, “what? I read it in one of my books, babies are mostly made up of fat to sort energy so they can grow. And eating fatty foods isn’t good for you.”

“It would explain why your adopted though. Your dad found you in a tree.” Pepper replied tying to move away from eating babies. She addressed Adam and ignoring Wensleydale. The group giggled.

“Rude! And wrong,” Adam laughed. “Dad would have left me in a tree,”

They laughed over this for a while coming up with grander and grander idea as to why the witch would want Adam. And how Mr Crowley had found him.

They reached the gate to Hogsback Farm field and they climbed up. By this point the story had reached a conclusion; when the witch had dropped Adam he had landed on a stork who had then put him in a basked to float down the river Thames which was guided by mermaids to where Mr Crowley had stood with his Bentley.

Adam was the only one among them who had spent any time in London. So, they didn’t really understand that the river Thames doesn’t flow it sort of shuffles.

The Them sat and watching the world go by, while Dog ran around the field before roll in a large fresh cow pat.

“So, is it anything could be a witches mark?” James asked looking over at Adam who seemed to be the sources of all witchy and occult knowledge at this point. “I have a mole on my leg and a scar on my elbow. Look.” He pulled up his sleeve and showed off the tiny pale line. He wobbled as he leaned back to show the rest of the group. Pepper grabbed him and stopped him from falling off the gate. They all giggled at this, James could trip on a flat surface. Brian grins and grabbed the bottom of this shirt.

“What about this scar?” he pulls his shit up to almost over his face. They all look expecting to see a monstrous scar that they had never hear off before. However, all they could see is Brian’s slightly porgy belly. he had somehow gotten ice-cream under here as well, “really skill” Adam thought briefly. They all look at him and he poked at his belly button. Pepper rolls her eyes and looks away.

“That’s a bellybutton not a scar.” Adam says eyeing the bellybutton suspiciously. “Weird it goes out though,”

“He must be a witch” says James, watching Dog take a flying leap into a partially large cowpat.

“Are you sure? He doesn’t seem very witchy or evil” Wensleydale asked slightly worried for his friend.

“Maybe he is a witch’s thrall?” James suggests, still considering the bellybutton

“What's that?” Brian pulls his top down wiping more dirt over it. He looks at Wensleydale, curious about his predicament.

“It's where you are under someone's control.” Wensleydale clarified, “but I think that's only vampires.”

“I think Brian just has a weird belly button.” Pepper added, feeling a little left out of the conversation.

“The point is there are witches out there going undetected and we need to stop them....” Adam begins and the gang look at him, this looks like it’s going to be interesting.

“There used to be a witchfinder general,” Wensleydale blurted out as the memory jumps to the front of his mind.

“Hopkins,” James added helpfully. Adam looked thoughtfully at the two smaller boys who grin at him sheepishly.

“Dad talks about something called the Spanish inquisition. He said they found witches too.”

“What’s an inquisition,” Pepper demanded, looking at James who was sat closest to her.

“I don’t know,” he whispered back “I think it means investigation or something.”

“So, they investigate things and they’re Spanish.” She says looking confused and slightly unconvinced.

“Pretty much yeah.” James confirmed shrugging.

“So, the witchfinders where the British version,” Wensleydale suggests, listening to Adam.

“What happened to them?” Adam asked, his question directed at James and Wensleydale who seem to know more about the witch finders that him. This annoyed Adam slightly as he actually knew a real witch finder.

“I think people got upset at them burning all their old women.,” Brian added, swinging his legs off the gate.

“Maybe we should be the Spanish inquisition. We need to find the witches and deal with them.” Adam declared, making the decision for the group.

“But non of us are Spanish.” Pepper pointed out, not wanting to derail the game but it seemed to be the elephant on the gate with them.

“I don’t think the British’s inquisition has the same effect.” Wensleydale stated. He watched Dog roll in the grass, really enjoying the end of the world.

“you probably don’t need to be Spanish to be in it. It’s like scotched egg, you don’t need to be Scottish to eat one. Maybe you just have to look Spanish to be in the Spanish inquisition.” James was watching a flock of birds fly over head as he spoke.

Adam looks over his little gang and make another decision. With a nod, he jumped off the gate and look back at the four watching him. Brian who was rattling a chips packet picking at the crumbs at the bottom. The packet would soon be lost to the wind. Wensleydale was sat next to James both small but Wensleydale trumped James by an inch. James watched Adam with his dark eyes. They seemed to see into your very soul. Pepper sat next to James leaning forward ready for action. Dog wriggles under the fence to get to his side.

“Okay, after lunch, the first meeting of the NEW Spanish inquisition will be held in the chalk pit. Bring something to prove that you are Spanish.” This was his finale order before they left for lunch.

* * *

**The Ex-Convent of the Chattering Order Of St Beryl:**

Gun fire outside the former convent ratted the windowpanes as several hyped-up businessmen and women battled in the barrel and net covered courtyard. A few of them where living out their action movie fantasies while having remarkable escapes.

Crowley practically skipped down the halls of the ex-convent. He would have been overwelled by stressful memories if he wasn’t having so much fun. Aziraphale grinned at the sight of the happy demon. Crowley was really quite handsome when he was truly happy. The Demon stopped to absentmindedly kicked in a door, giving Aziraphale a chance to catch up with him in what used to be the cloisters. The sound of fighting no longer worried him, Crowley wouldn’t let any of them die.

The angel chuckled and said “You know, under it all, you are nice…” but was cut off when Crowley wheeled and grabbed him by the front of his coat, pinning him against the wall. The demon was acting purely on instinct at that moment.

“I’m not nice, nice is a 4-letter word beginning with N.” Crowley growled. Aziraphale froze, the closeness nearly got the better of him. If Crowley didn’t have such good control of his body, he would have blushed. The angel wasn’t so lucky, and his eyes where fixed firmly on Crowley’s lips. There were two option here. He could reply with an apology or a witty comeback, OR he could close the distend between them and dispel 6000 years’ worth of pining. He was leaning towards the latter, and Crowley, when the click of heels distracted the two entities. Aziraphale gaze lingered on the demon’s face for a second longer that was proper before tuning on the one who had interrupted him.

"Sorry to break up this intimate moment but... oh Satan help me, its master Crowley," Crowley was already on her. Leaping away for Aziraphale like he was made of holy water. technically he was but that was another matter. Behind the glasses, that had slipped slightly, Aziraphale saw Crowley’s eyes narrow and zero in on the woman in a tight suit and curly hair.

"YOU! Hoofiekins.” Crowley Hissed storming towards her. The woman was about to turn and run. Which would be a natural response from any mortal faced with an angry demon. She froze in places and her faces drops. Aziraphale hears the snap of fingers rather than sees them. He glared at the man he was thinking about in more than friendly way a few moment ago.

“No need for that.” He says disappointed in Crowley’s slapdash way of handling mortals.

“Oh no, no you’re right, of course.” Crowley says sarcastically “excuse me miss, I think you might remember me but I’m the demon who handed you the antichrist about eleven years ago. This here is my college an angel of the lord, we are here as there may have been a mix up with the babies could you possibly help us?” Crowley practically span on the spot during this little scene. Aziraphale watched him burn his sarcasm out before turning to the frozen ex-nun.

“Do you remember the baby that was delivered here eleven years ago?” he asked in his angelic voice that could calm a raging hell hound. Crowley slid up next to him watching the woman as she thought. Mary Hodges, Formally Sister Mary Loquacious, smiled softly as the memory blossomed behind her eyes,

“Yes,” she said in a sigh. Crowley and Aziraphale look at each other.

“Did anything happen to the boy?” Aziraphale asked prodding the woman to tell them more

“He was such a little lord, me and sister Annabelle delivered him to the chosen family,” Mary smiled at the memory,

“So, it all when without a hitch?” Crowley asked getting agitated now. This was their only lead.

“Yes, just as Mother Superior had planned.” Crowley turned away to silently scream as their only clue slipped away. Aziraphale, upset on Crowley’s behalf, now shuffled on the spot before asking,

“So, nothing happened?”

“Nothing,” the self-made businesswoman nodded. Crowley spun back,

“Files, you must have had files on what happened.” He pleaded with the tranced woman. “I know I signed a lot of paperwork that must be somewhere?” Aziraphale nodded looking back at the woman.

“The paperwork was lost in the fire.”

“Fire? What fire?” Aziraphale asked looking around the building for signs of damage.

“The night the baby left there was a fire. It burnt all the records,” Crowley growled and went back to pulling his hair,

“it must have been Hastur, that idiot,” He hissed. Aziraphale stepped away from the woman to discuss what they were going to do now, with Crowley. Mary continued catching both men off guard.

“there was one box that survived. It was under the front desk away from the main fire,” Both men jumped back at her.

“Where is it?” Crowley asked

“The filing cabinet at the back of the sort room. The door isn’t locked. Not much to steal,” the woman smiled at this, probably thinking what a lovely low crime rate they had in Tadfield.

I need to work on that thought Crowley.

Aziraphale was more clued up that his demon comparison,

“Is there anything else you remember about the baby?” he asked her. Hoping she would say something about him being left alone for even a second.

“He had lovely little toesy-wooesys,” she said with a grin. Aziraphale smiled as well. Crowley was already halfway down the hall looking for the storeroom. Aziraphale bless the ex-nun before hurrying after the demon.

Aziraphale and Crowley walked out of the ex-convent; the Demon had a box under his arm. Behind them a dozen adrenaline fuelled businessmen and woman where being handcuffed and shoved in the back of a police van. One was putting up a fight.

* * *

**Hoggs Hill, Tadfield:**

The witch that had moved into Old jasmines cottage (although she preferred to be called an occult) was currently performing some very specifically and thoroughly witchy tests. She tweaked the tripod that was set up on the top of Hoggs hill. Quickly jotting down the northing and southing in her note book. She muttered to herself as she worked. Nature buzzed around her curious at to what she was up too.

Police sirens screamed off in the distance. That was ominous though the witch. But the book says to stay here.

According to her book she was about to meet someone very important. In about half an hour, but timing could be a little off sometimes. She was preparing for everything, this was important. The fate of the world depended on it.

* * *

**Hoggs Lane, Tadfield,**

James and Adam walked down Hoggs lane, they had left the others at the crossroads as they had split to head to their respective homes. Dog pulled on the lead knowing where they where going. The creature was covered in cow pats, he was no longer white and black spotted just slightly green-y brown all over.

“Your dad isn’t going to let him in the house,” James muttered looking down at the animal that was panting as it chocked itself of the lead. Adam frowned,

“Dad isn’t home at the moment,” he looked down the lane in case he had summoned his father but denying that he was present. It had happened before. James reached his gate and paused.

“just leave him in the garden and then you won’t get in trouble.”

The orange cat that lived between the two boys houses hoped up on the stone wall around James house and nuzzled the boy. James patted the animal and scratched it behind the ears.

“You don’t want to get grounded again, it was hard enough breaking you out last time,” he continued.

Adam had stopped with his friend; he was still stood in the road holding Dog’s lead. The mutt hadn’t noticed the cat yet.

“I guess,” Adam said. The scream of a police car whizzed by at the end of the road. The cat jumped away and Dog darted in the direction of the car. Both boys looked around astonished. Nothing interesting happened in Tadfield. They both sprinted to the end of the road. James having to pause for a moment and catch his breath.

“Where was that going?” James gasped watching the lights shoot up the lane.

“It’s heading over the hill,” Adam shouted pointing as the lights dropped out of sight. “That out of our territory.”

Both boys looked at each other. The temptation to grab their bikes and follow the police car was quite strong but James’ tummy rumbled and made the decision for them.

“After lunch the New Spanish inquisition can check that out, if we haven’t found any witches yet.” Adam suggested. James smile and nodded. They walked back down the road and home for lunch.

* * *

**Number 9, Hoggs Lane, Tadfield:**

Aziraphale and Crowley arrive back at the Tadfield house a little after lunch. It was decided that they would look though the files here as there was no time to waste driving all the way back to London. The Bentley was left in the garage like a great black beast sleeping in its cave. The rusty bike was still leaning against the wall. Adam hadn’t taken it when he had gone out this morning. Crowley glowered. He hoped that he had come home for lunch. He had left Adams lunch covered in the fridge. One thing Crowley would say he had exceled at as a dad was making sure his son ate. And ate well. His lunch boxes were the talk of the school yard.

Crowley open the door shifting the box under his arm as Aziraphale walked in first. Kicking the door closed behind him Crowley shouted his sons name. it echoed around the house. The scrape of a chair in the kitchen announced the eleven-year-old presents.

“Adam, Aziraphale is here,” he called and the sound of socked feet running though the kitchen and out into the hall could be heard.

“Hello Adam, I hope you had a good birth...” the wind was knocked out of him.

With a delighted whoop, Adam launched himself at Aziraphale catching the surprised angel in a hug around the waist. Aziraphale had to take a step back to stop himself falling over and laughed, returning the hug happily. Crowley grinned to himself, watching the spectacle. He walked away from the pair in case he caught feelings. He walked down the hall and though the library to his home offices. He dumped the box on his desk and returned to his son and his angel.

Untangling himself from Aziraphale arms, Adam looked up at him.

“Thank you for the Dog Azzy!” Adam exclaimed happily, grinning from ear to ear.

Aziraphale couldn’t help by smile,

“Oh, you are welcome Adam! I’m so glad you like him, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be around to give him to you in person.”

“It’s alright, I know you’re busy. Me an’ dad just had cake and pizza; it was great! And Dog is the best present ever.”

Crowley smiled to himself, thinking back to the expensive leather-bound copies of the Iliad and the Odyssey, that set unread on Adam’s shelves along with his ivory ball and cup. Aziraphale gave the boy lots of presents, but they were mostly aimed at children form the 18th century which is where his fashion was from apparently.

Aziraphale didn’t notice the demon smirking, he was totally absorbed by Adam.

“Where is the sweet little puppy then?” the angel asked, peering around the kitchen door as they walked down the hall towards the Demon. looking for the cute little Labrador puppy.

“He’s out in the garden!” Adam smiled, “He jumped in a massive pile of cow pats!” Adam was too happy about this turn of events for Crowley’s liking. He could feel this happening on a regular basis.

“I don’t want him bringing cow shit through the house” Crowley interjected, giving his son a look, “You’d better get the hose out of the garage.”

With this Adam ran off excited with the prospect of playing with both the hose and dog. The immortal beings, ethereal and occult, watched him leave before turning and heading towards the study. The large box of papers that sat on Crowley’s desk. The desk itself was a masterpiece, Crowley had had it specially commissioned and hand build for him. It was made of beautifully carved mahogany and had a green leather top. Crowley had bested the red marble topped desk back in his Mayfair office. Outside they heard the sound of gushing water followed by barking and laughter. Aziraphale took the seat at the desk as Crowley peeked out of the blinds to see what Adam was getting up to.

“So,” Aziraphale queried. He had pulled a hand full of files out of the box and was looking at them, none of them had the right date to be useful. “We’re looking for the birth certificate from the night you delivered the Anti-Christ. Do you remember much from that night?”

The Demon shrugged. Walking back over to the desk. He pushed the box over much the same way a cat would do to a glass of water. the file slipped out and scatted on the desk.

“Not a huge amount, there were more pressing things on my mind at the time.” Crowley replied, not taking his eyes off the myriad of papers on the desk in front of him. He dismissed one tossing it to the floor uncaringly. Aziraphale had a neat stack in front of him, after he had checked a file’s date, he placed it in the pile. A space was already waiting for any file that may be useful. He had yet to find one.

“Are you sure there is nothing else you can remember? Even the smallest clue might help” Aziraphale reasoned after a few moments filled with the sound of rustling paper and the occasional thud of Crowley throwing a handful across the room, “There can’t have been many people there, not at that time and especially with it being a satanic convent.”

Crowley scanned another folder before throwing it over his shoulder.

“All I remember from that night is that I was given the baby by Hastur, drove the convent and dropped off the child with that nun who was there today.” Crowley paused. “Could Hastur have interfered at all,” he said more to himself then to Aziraphale. He thought about all the shit he had put his fellow demon though. He had deserved it, but would he seek revenge by fucking this up and blaming Crowley? “No, he’d never go against his orders like that not with something this important. And I don’t think he has the imagination to come up with this.”

“Well, who do you remember seeing there?” Aziraphale asked gently, carefully placing the sheet he was reading on the stacked pile next to him.

The film of memory played in Crowley’s head as he tried to remember the events of what happened.

“The only people at the convent while I was there were the nuns, me obviously, the Americans - Mrs Dowling and that lot, and…” Crowley stopped. With a dreadful wave, the memory of the nervously smiling Arthur Young standing by Crowley’s side, discussing baby names, crept into the demon’s reptilian brain.

Aziraphale saw the look of realisation spread over his companion’s face.

“What is it? You know who it might have been?” The angel asked hopefully.

Crowley leaned back. “How could I have been so stupid?” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

“What is it Crowley?” Aziraphale repeated, looking slightly worried at this point.

The Demon fixed him with a stare of his snake-like eyes.

“The only other group there were the Youngs.” He stated solemnly.

“The Youngs? You mean Arthur and Deirdre?” Aziraphale asked, remembering Crowley’s pleasant neighbours. He had been to numerus garden party’s and BBQ where they had played host. Deirdre and him where currently competing for the prize of best cake at the knitting club. Crowley had been dragged to the bi-monthly pub quiz by Arthur and seemed to take it a little too seriously.

“Yes them.” Crowley almost snapped. He started pacing around the spacious office. “They were there having their son James, the one who’s friends with Adam.”

Aziraphale’s train of thought caught up with Crowley’s.

“You think that the nun made the wrong switch?” he asked astonished at this revelation, “You think that James is the Anti-Christ?”

“Who else could it be Angel?” Crowley said turning to face Aziraphale, “It could have only been Warlock or James, they were the only new-born babies there that night, so it has to be one of them.”

A quite knock caught them both of guard. Crowley had made the offices soundproof, if he was going to have to taint this house with check in from hell. He didn’t want anyone listening in. He had also made it a rule with Adam and his friend that this room was off limits and to knock before being called in. it had been one of the few things Crowley had had to shout at his son about. Adam was a cheeky kid but with things like this he couldn’t mess around.

Crowley slipped over and opens the door. Adam stands there his hands behind his back. Mismatching sock and jacket missing. He smiles up at his dad,

“Hiya,” he said. Crowley pushed the door further open and leaned on it so that Aziraphale could see the boy.

“How can we help you Adam?” the Angel asked smiling fondly. Adam shuffled his feet, not really willing to step into the offices.

“Do we have anything Spanish?” he asked. Crowley squinted and looked at the Angel to see if he was missing something. Aziraphale frowned and looked at Crowley the same way. Adam seeing he had lost his audiences, looked between them.

“I need something Spanish to be part of the Spanish inquisition.” He explained. Nether of the faces looking at him understood.

“What do you need that is Spanish?” asked Crowley carefully. He was slightly worried this might be something to do with growing up. Arthur had talked in detail about the pain of having a teenaged child. James older sister was 16 going on 21.

Adam didn’t seem ready for this question,

“I don’t know. Anything that is Spanish I guess,”

“You get Spanish onions,” Crowley countered thinking he could wiggle out of this.

“What makes them Spanish?” asked Adam. Crowley scratched his nose,

“They are grown in Spain,”

This seemed to pacify Adam who smiled. He turned to go with a thanks on his lips when Aziraphale piped up.

“Do you still have that matador outfit from 1907?” he asked. Adams eye widened at this information; Matador sounded very Spanish.

Crowley smiled looking back at Aziraphale. Yes, he still had that outfit. He remembered it very well. it was the first time since the holy water insistent that he had seen the angel. Crowley was there officially to spread discourse among the people. There was a general election coming up and hell wanted some of its player in charge. One of the main opponents was at the Traje de Luces, which is sort of an after party to the fight.

Crowley himself had missed the main event too busy strutting around in the outfit that he had procured for this little side mission. The tight trousers and beautify embroidered silk coat that had teardrop pearls hanging off it had been one of the finest in the tailor’s shop. Crowley always one to indulge in the sin of pride couldn’t get it on quick enough. It had quite an effect on the ladies.

The Demon had never been to one of these shows before but according to his collages they are quite the spectacle. The tiny demon had smiled a little too much as they said this. He had no idea why the angel was there, he suspected it was something to do with food and considering the huge steaming plates of meat that where being ferried out of the kitchens, he couldn’t blame him. He had done his duty as a demon suggesting to governmental candidate that that sweet young thing over in the corner would keep him company better than his wife that even, providing some good gossip and scandal to surround him. when he noticed that Aziraphale had vanished. He didn’t want to step on the angel toes so he had stuck his head out of the back door, the hall the party was in having many open doors and windows, none of which had any glass, only shutters to keep the sun out but let the cooling wind though, well as cooling as the wind ever got here. Crowley was starting to get sweat in uncomfortable places. Theses trousers may show off the curve of his thigh beautifully but they don’t half boil his genitals.

Crowley wondering into the quite street the before mentioned, somewhat pleasant breeze brushed against him causing the pearls on his coat to tinkle sweetly. He could hear the underlying sound of cattle, this was normal, several bulls were stored for tomorrows show nearby. The sound of singing and dancing was flooding into the street from the building along with the solid, dull yellow light from oil lamps.

It was the whispering that got his attention. He hadn’t taken two steps before a massive bull charged out of its now unlocked cage towards him. Crowley true to his name hit the floor and tried to crawl out of its way. Unfortunately, the bull had spotted his gleaming outfit and narrowed in. As the animal launched him into the air he saw the shocked face of Aziraphale crouched behind a crate. He was holding what looked like a padlock. Ah, though Crowley. He then hit the turf.

It had been an eventful mission.

“That bull sent you flying,” chuckled the angel, leaning back in Crowley desk chair and smiling.

He huffed as the angel giggled to himself. They hadn’t spoken that day, but it was nice that Aziraphale remembered Crowley making a fool of himself with a smile. Adam looked up at him with one of the worst cases of puppy eyes he had ever seen.

“Second bedroom first cupboard.” He said with a sigh. The boy cheered and rushed off. Crowley stepped away from the door causing it to shut and walks over to the desk. He started poring through the files again. Aziraphale who was reading suddenly looks up,

“Doesn’t that uniform have a sword?” he asked the Demon,

“Yes,” Crowley answered plainly. The file in his hand went flying. He scooped up another.

“You can't give him that!' Azriaphale was now almost out of his seat, he would have been fully out of his seat if Crowley had shown any signs of worry. The Demon was better with kids that the angel. 'It's not safe!' he finished looking over at Crowley.

“It’s a sword,” Crowley muttered seemingly more intrigued in the file that his son’s safety. “They aren’t meant to be safe,”

“Crowley, he is just a child,”.

“Its educational,” the Demon stated. A muffled goodbye was yelled though the house and the door slammed shut.

'What if he cuts himself?' the angel argued, looking ready to go after the boy,

“That would be an important lesson,” Crowley smiled at Aziraphale much like a shark as he placed the folder of one James. Henry. Young, on the desk. Aziraphale settled back down but he kept glancing toward the window worried about his half- adopted son. A though slipped into his head, a worrying thought.

“What about…” Aziraphale paused feeling wretched for even thinking of the possibility, “What about Adam?”

Crowley stared at the angel in incomprehension.

“What about Adam?”

“He was born there that night…” Aziraphale left the unsaid question hanging there in the air between them.

Crowley looked dumbfounded at him. “Angel, Adam is the only one it can’t be. He was taken out of the room before the switch happened.” Crowley shook his head and kicked the remaining files across the room to be disposed of later, he snorted “Plus, come on, I think we’d have been able to spot if he was the Anti-Christ.” He laughed and Aziraphale smiled softly at him.

Aziraphale relented. However, a tiny drop of doubt remained in his brain. They hadn’t spotted that Warlock wasn’t the Anti-Christ after all. But Crowley was right, they had both been on Earth since the beginning. If anyone could have spotted an occult being that powerful, they would have noticed years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today book recommendation is Terry Pratchett "The Hogfather" referenced in this chapter


	5. Thursday afternoon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok.  
> Im back.  
> look, yes i know i was away longer than i said i would, but my gran when into hospital to get her hip replaced and we had to look after my grandad who has alzheimer's. He forgets who i am, or thinks im my gran or im worse case thinks i have broken into the house and screams at me to get out, this last one ended with me sitting out on the street at three am in my pjs.  
> so yeah. i need a little time to recoop.  
> anyway. i hope you like it. i have done some cleaning up on the older chapters as well. so go check them out.

**St James Park, London, 2010:**

The day that Crowley had decided to move it had begun to rain.

Adam had been throwing bread to the ducks the same way all three-year-old did. Viciously and with intent. He had managed to hoopla a circle of crust around the neck of a mallard (the duck had subsequently been proclaimed a king by their surrounding brethren, before the bread became soggy and was eaten).

“There is something not right about that boy,” Aziraphale was sat next to Crowley on their normal bench in St James park, watching Adam run back and forth between them and the pond. He had gathering a collection of aquatic subjects. His yellow welly boots splattered with mud, blue coat flapping open showing off a batman shirt. The red hat that would complete the Paddington look was currently wedged in the Kungfu panda backpack that sat between the two men. Little red gloves where also in the bag. One having been thrown to the ducks before being taken away.

Crowley looked over at the Angel,

“He’s not doing anything wrong,” Aziraphale gave him a confused look,

“I mean Warlock,” he waved away Adam, who was chasing a moor hen around the gravle path, giggling.

“I don’t want to say it, but he is too normal,” Crowley scrunched up his faces at this,

“Angel he’s three, you can’t do much at three, other than paint the cat blue. Anyway, you only met him for two hours” Adam ran back to them and snatched the bag of bread before running back to the pond. “Give him time. He shouldn’t be that powerful just yet.”

“I suppose your right. It wouldn’t be a good cover if his eye where glowing red and levitates things around the house,” the Angel watched the young boy emptied the brown bag of bread at his feet where a large gathering of duck were swarming.

“Or if he had little hoofiekins,” chuckled Crowley lost in a memory,

“What?” Asked Aziraphale looking round at him confused,

“Oh nothing,” Crowley muttered.

The sky grumbled above them. It was the typical grey colour for the time of year but some darker patched had wondered closer. Aziraphale stood form the bench and walked down to the pond with Adam. The ducks scuttled back in his wake. He knelt next to the child and pulled his coat closed keeping him warm. Adam ignored him in favour of waving at the ducks.

Aziraphale scooped up the boy before he could launch himself into a puddle on his way back to the bench, the fluffy yellow duck toy firmly gripped by its neck in his left hand. It had a muddy smudge over its head and stared out at the world with black soulless button eyes that scream.

Crowley had consider putting the souls that annoyed him in some of his son’s soft toys. He hadn’t for two reasons. One he didn’t want anything about hell to be near his son. It was bad enough that he had to go down there with him on one or two occasion when he could find a sitter. And two no one disserved that type of punishment. Adam could be truly evil to his toys.

Crowley felt the first drops of rain as they began to blur his glasses. He leaned back on the bench and looked up at the grey sky. The drops fell sporadically with no suggestion of a downpour, but this was England and the clouds looked like they were getting ready for a real performance. Crowley could just make out the dull rumble of thunder far away, just over the trundle and occasional horn blast from passing cars as pedestrians tried to cross the busy London streets.

He stood and popped open the black umbrella that he had brought with them. Swinging the small backpack over his shoulder and picking up the second duck toy who had sat next to him on the bench, Crowley walked towards Aziraphale, who was trying to convince Adam that he didn't want to be put down much to the protests of Adam himself. Crowley held the umbrella over the pair, watching the struggle for a few seconds. He leaned in, holding up the second the duck. He flapped its fabric wings at Adam who squealed in delight.

"Quack, quack.” He made the duck say. Aziraphale smiled at him.

They made their way out of the park, Adam now decked out in his full Paddington gear completed with his red gloves and hat. He swung on Crowley’s arm not allowed to let go of his hand. That didn’t stop him jumping at every puddle in radiuses as they walked. Adam liked the rain, it created mud and mud was fun. It was pouring now. The park a grey blur with benches and tree apprizing out of the mist as they walked. The hiss of the rain was almost deafening. Under the umbrella that Crowley held in his other hand, the two entities seemed to be in their own world. It was nice they could talk, and no one would hear them. So of course, they talk about work.

“How did the interview go?” Crowley asked not having to talk very loudly to be heard Aziraphale was virtually pinned to his shoulder to stay dry under the umbrella.

“Oh brilliantly, I must thankyou again my dear boy, your recommendation was very well received,” Aziraphale smiled up at the Demon. Crowley could feel physically warmth from that smile. He leaned into it, loving being the reason behind it,

“You are an excellent tutor, Angel, every world I wrote was true. Look how far along Adam is at reading.” Crowley replied. Adam gave Aziraphale a toothy grin, dimple and all. Crowley smiled softly at the Angel, is not like anyone could see them. It was just them; it was safe. “Warlock would be lucky to have a teacher like you,” he would have added how his presents would balances out Beth’s interactions with him but at the time he didn’t feel like mentioning anyone else. They had come to a section where the park met the road. The Bentley was parked about 100 yards down, ready to take them to the Ritz for lunch. Across the street was a toy shop that they liked to pop into. Adam had every toy he could ever want but it was nice to have a look at the new selection and see if any interested him. Adam pulled on his arm wanting to head to the shop. Crowley and Aziraphale, pause not ready to leave the little bubble they had built form themselves. They stood close enough that the warmth from their breaths mixed.

Aziraphale turned to face Crowley staying very close so as to not get wet.

“But really Crowley, thank you, you can be really...”

Crowley rolled his head slightly as the Angel couldn’t see him rolling his eyes,

“If you say nice I’m walking away right now,” he didn’t say this with his usual aggression, mostly because when it came to helping his angel, it didn’t count.

Aziraphale smiled slightly again and they fell quiet. Crowley felt at peace. stood in the rain with his angel, he looked down at Aziraphale lips, they were very close. Temptingly close you could say. He could smell the chocolate on his breath from the coco he had had before they had left the shop. The smell of his colonel couldn’t have gotten any stronger if Crowley had shoved his faces in the angel’s shoulder. He watched Aziraphale tongue dart out and wet his lips. They only had eight years left. The though brushed against his mind, not pushing but suggesting. The world seemed to close in around them,

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said quietly, the demon only hummed in reply. So close…

“Crowley!” Aziraphale almost pushed him away. Startled, Crowley jumped back form Aziraphale scared that he had ruined things.

“Where’s Adam?”

Two words that made the world freezes. He looked down at his hand that was meant to be holding his son. A red glove was still gipped tightly there. Ice cold fear crept up his spine. His head darts around looking for a blue raincoat and a red hat. There is no sign of him.

The sound of screaming wheels on a wet road make him want to drop to his knees and vomit, when a thump follows, he nearly did.

Looking up out to the road he can see a pair of yellow welly boots lying behind a parked car. Crowley doesn’t know how he managed to get to Adams side. He thinks he volts a car in the prosses. The world around him stops with a snap of his fingers. Rain frozen in places forming a void as the Demon moves. He scoops up the tiny body.

He isn’t moving. Feeling his heart trying to climb out his throat and help, he turned Adam over. He was limp in Crowley arms. Blood beginning to drip from his little nose, his eyes closed. He would look peaceful if not for the blood. Little blond curls stuck out under his hat giving the boy a cherub look.

Desperation making him manic Crowley uses the little demonic graces he had in his corrupted soul to try and heal the child. Black veins run up the child arms and over his faces. Like ink running from his mouth and eyes. Crowley held his son close as he screamed. This form of healing was incredibly painful for him but the damage that the boy had sustained from being knocked down would have killed him. And Crowley would not let that happen. No matter the consequences.

Time began to move again as Adams skin began to clear of black tarnish. The tiny body gasped and looked up at the fear in his dads eyes. Feed off that fear and the phantom pain that ran through his body, Adam began to snivel.

Crowley never wanted to see his sons faces that pained again. The boy bursts into tears. Still holding his child Crowley stood, he must have lost his glasses or the rage that now consumed him had burnt them away. He growled, eyes nearly bursting into flames as he looked at the cab driver. The driver himself tried to back away from the furious demon but found he couldn’t move. He was an elderly man with a heart condition Crowley would later discovered from a news report. The sight of the enraged demon must have been too much for the man as he had apparently died at the scene of a heart attack.

“Is he ok?”

Aziraphale reaches them, dragging the umbrella along behind him. The rain had drenched them all. Crowley collapsed back on the side of the road still holding Adam who pushes his head away from his dad shoulder to vomit. It was black and slimy, a side effect of demon powers. The boy cried louder. Crowley wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his suit, not caring about its value now. Several pedestrians who saw the accident rush over.

“Is he okay?!”.

“Where were you?!”.

“How could you let this happen?!”.

“Where is his mother?!”.

“I’ve called an ambulance”.

“I think the driver is dead!”.

The world around them was deafening though Crowley tuned them all out, focusing on the child who is whimpering in his arms. He hugged Adam and rocked as he sat in the pouring rain on the muddy curb of St Peter’s park. The traffic continues around him. Aziraphale was crouched next to him petting Adams hair, trying to sooth the child. He pauses to places Crowley’s glassed back on his faces, covering his eyes form nosey onlookers.

That was the moment that Crowley decided that they should move.

* * *

**Tadfield, the Them hide out, 2019:**

The New Spanish Inquisition had gathered in the chalk pit. Adam was getting a little hot in his coat. It was five times too big for him and so trapped more heat. But it was cool looking so he wasn’t going to give in and take it off. He had the hat tucked under one arm, like an old captain in old paintings. His gang stood in a row in-front of him. It wasn’t the best turn out he could have hoped for but it would do. He started with Brian. He was stood to attention at the end of the line. He had a tatty poster tucked under his arm also. The ice cream on his shirt was congealing into a stiff paste.

“So what do you have that proved your Spanish and so can join my Inquisition,” he said in his best formal voice. Him and James had practised their Spanish accents on the walk over but they had both decided that they weren't very good. Brian dropped formation and unrolled the poster under his arm, smiling,

“I got my poster, it’s got bulls on it and everything.” He said proudly showing Adam the poster. Wensleydale, who was next in the queue, frowned.

“Are bulls Spanish then?” he asked looking between Adam and Brian, he looked like he had missed a loop hole.

“They must be.” Brian protested, “I got it in Spain so they must be to be very Spanish for them to be on a poster.”

This was solid evidence in favour of bulls being Spanish. That and Azzy had said that this coat and hat where part of a Bull Fighters costume. So if they are fighting bull in Spain then its not to much of a leap to say that Bulls are Spanish.

Adam give Brian an approving head nod and turns to Wensleydale, "That’s very good. What about you Wensleydale?”.

James is stood as tightly to attention as he can manages. He had his chin so high up that he might flip over if he pushed too hard. The onions that his mother had given him at his request for something Spanish where still tucked behind his seat. The sword that Adam had lent him was much cooler. It was long and sliver. The handle had a beautifully carved skull on it, the guard was laced with a intricate pattern, it was a beautifully weapon. He was very aware of the damage it could do. You can feel it cut you from the sound of it being drawn. Adam had tried to draw it on the way over but he couldn’t get it out of its scabbard. James had suggested that it had rusted into the cover but when they had arrived he had tried himself, managed to pull the blade from its bed with a spine chilling hum. He had immediately pushed it back into its case. Some things where not for playing with.

However, Pepper was transfixed by it. She hadn't seen it at first but when they had got lined up in front of Adam, she had finally noticed the sword that was hanging on the younger boy's back. The belt was too big to be tired around his waist, that and the end of the sword would be dragged on the ground if it was. So James had slung the belt around his shoulders like a bag. The sword slipped and poked him in the ear now and then but it was better than damaging it.

“You have a sword?” she hissed at him, not quite turning to look at him from fear of being reprimanded by the High Lord Inquisitor Adam for not being in line. “You never had a sword? Where did you get it James?”. She was almost hurt but the fact that James had such a cool thing and he had never told them, namely her, about it. She expected that of Adam who routinely turned up with cool new toys or old ones that he had forgotten about. But James and her where best friends. To hell with what Adam said about them sharing a birthday, her and James shared everything. Right down to lunchtime snacks.

Adam was continuing his inspection of his troops. Wensleydale held up what looked like two sets of wooden clam shells.

“I have Castanets.” He held them out and clicked them together a few times. They made an odd snapping sound. Only Brian and Adam seemed to be interested.

“Shh Pepper, the Lord High Inquisitor is talking” James whispered back. Not wanting to get in trouble. He rolled his shoulder having to pull the sword back into position again. “Adam gave it to me.” He clarified when Wensleydale was distracting Adam with his clam shells. Adam looked at the shells closely. They didn’t seem very Spanish.

“What are castanets?” he asked suspiciously. He hadn't heard of them before.

“You clack them together and they make a noise.” Wensleydale answered promptly, demonstrated this again. “Spanish women in red dresses dance with them apparently.”

Brian and Adam looked at each other. Nether could disprove this so it must be right.

“Can i see it?” Pepper nagged at James who was trying not to give in. it was a dangerous weapon and he didn’t want Pepper to get hurt. But he also didn’t want to get hurt by Pepper for not letting her look at it.

“Ok that seems sort of Spanish.” Adam muttered, still eyeing the castanets.

“Not yet” James hissed back at Pepper as Adam walking closer. Pepper was next in the line.

“Pepper,” Adam said getting her attention “what have you got?”

“I have this candleholder that’s made from a bottle that looks sort of Spanish but James has a sword and won't let me see it.” It all came out as one long breath. Adam looked at her for a moment.

“I gave it to him” he said, Pepper deflated, the worry that James had been keeping this from her left her. It was replaced by annoyances.

“Why can’t I have a go with it?” she asked, a little bitter that she wasn't shown it first. But she wasn't gonna argue, Adam had said something about needing a head torturer and she had her eyes on the prize.

“Cos it’s my dad’s and I’m letting James use it?”

“Can I hold it?” Pepper pleaded, “just once?”.

Adam huffed but nodded. James slipped the Sword off his back and gingerly give it to Pepper. Thankfully she didn't try and rip it out of its scabbard straight away. Holding the sword Pepper smiles slightly. It was heavier than she though, she gave it a few more swings. The weight of the sword felt all wrong. Yes, it still in its holder but it just felt wrong holding it. The smile on her faces drops into a frown then and scowl. This wasn't fun, sticks are better weapons than this. It was too heavy and cumbersome.

She handed it back to James with a huff and folds her arms. James swung it back onto his shoulder and give Pepper a half smile. Adam flopped down into his throne.

Its time to play the game.

* * *

**Lieutenant Shadwell's Flat, London:**

The new privet was a skinny lad, but times where tuff for the army so he couldn’t be too picky. he had set the lad to work combing the newspapers with strict instruction on what to look for,

1) Witches.

2) Unexplainable phenomenons. Phenomenatrices. Phenomenice. Things, ye ken well what I mean.

Newton Pulsifer, the name rang a bell but Shadwell had so many bells ringing in his head at one time this one went unnoticed. He pulled a pocket pen knife out of his jacket and stabbed a can of condensed milk. He took a swig as he walked towards the map stuck on the wall. The lad was a curious sort, had a lot of questions. Shadwell would try and answered them to the best of his ability, that mostly meant that he would avoid them.

Newt huffed dropping another thick paper into a pile of rejects. Shadwell turned, knowing that sound by now. It was normally followed by a question.

“Mr Shadwell?” he asked not looking up form sitting crossed legged on the ground pawing over the next paper. Shadwell dropped into a seat and put his can down. “who do we work for? are we an unknown section of the government?” The lad had an imagination you can give him that.

Shadwell paused half way though a swig of his milk. he though about the southern pansy that pays a chunk of his rent every month. he hasn’t had a job from him in years. thinking about it he doesn’t think he has ever truly been contracted by that man. his predecessors might have but not him. No, the witchfinder army is mostly used by… The Family.

his main contact is Mr Crowley, there is probably a number after that name. He had worked for his father before him and, if he lived long enough, would serve his son as well.

Shadwell paused looking off into the middle distances as he thought. Newt tuned on the spot looking behind him to see what his boss was looking at.

Thinking about the Crowley family cause Shadwell some anxiety. They had the air of power, walking around like they not only owned the places but the buildings around it, and the street, and the chair you’re sitting on. He was 100% sure that they were part of the mafia or another large crime family. He talked about his bosses like he had known them for a long time. Shadwell hadn’t seen Crowley Senior in a number of years. He was worried that Crowley Jr had bumped him off, until he had met the youngest Crowley. Adam Crowley didn’t yet look like his father but he had only met him one. He was four and a half years old, as he had told him repeatedly, and possessed the gravity and seriousness that only small children and mountain gorilla are able to master. The genuine care Crowley Jr had for his son, made him remarkably human and not the untouchable crime lord that Shadwell had seen of him as.

Shadwell broke out of his trances to look back at the slightly concerned man in front of him,

“Oh aye lad, the Witchfinder army is working in tandem with the Crowley’s.” He wouldn’t say serves, no matter what anybody said. It was just respectful to call his contacted Sir, and never say no to what he is asking.

Newt frowned and put down the paper leaning forward on his knees.

“The who?” he asked

“The Crowley’s.” Shadwell clarified, expecting to see understanding on the boys faces. He didn’t; so he continued, “The most secretive and powerful family in the world. We are contracted by them as they understand the need and importance of our organisation.” Shadwell felt pride swell in his chest at this,

“I've never heard of them.” The pride deflated; Newt was poking at the paper in front of him.

“See, that's how good they are,” Shadwell grumbled

“There aren’t family’s like that anymore, Mr Shadwell. they can’t be that powerful.” Newt raised an eyebrow at his boss

Shadwell shot across the room grabbing the young man by the shoulders. His chair wobbled before dropping back down on its feet.

“The fucking tree rat hasn’t found the nut, that will grow into the tree, that would be cut down to make the crib of the bugger who could beat the Crowleys,” he growled, Newt squeaked looking up at the old mans sudden show of strength. Shadwell smirked, "so are you sure about that Laddy?” Newt squirmed in the spot and Shadwell wondered back to his chair it creaked as he sat. he took a gulp of his milk. Newt pause and looked up at his boss again.

“Do they...run the government?” he asked carefully. Worried that he might be put on a list if he continued this line of conversation.

“Knowing them, its every likely. Though that might be the lower down members doing that. The big players are more concerned with making sure the world isn't over run with fiends and supernatural monstrosities.” He huffed a laugh and leaned back in his chair. Newt seemed pacified by this and went back to snipping the newspaper.

Shadwell leaned back in his chair content with life at the moment.


	6. Thursday Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kutos give me life, and the will to keep writing this.

Hoggs Back wood, Tadfield, Oxfordshire:

Anathema Device was a witch. And a very good one. She specialized in professionally being the descendant of a witch who wrote the only correct prophecy book in existence. She was currently following up on one particulate prophecy that said that eleven years ago a beast had appear in the area of Tadfield, Oxfordshire, which would mark the beginning of the end for the world.

She had been here a week and searching the public recorded had only found a report of a particularly large piglet being born that summer. Nothing that could be called a beast and Agnes was very persistent that there was a monster on the lose here. Anathema clicked open her watch and checked the time. She scribbled down the number in her note book before picking up her dowsing rods. They twisted and turned for a moment before setting pointing left. She turned and took a few steps to the left. She followed the direction of the little metal rods for about five minutes before she hear voices. She tucked the rods away in time to see a strange procession. Five children and a dog where marching along the top of the bank along the path. One was wearing a pointy hat and another was holding a long stick . The leader of this procession was wearing a black bull fighters coat that was clearly too big for him, along with the hat that kept slipping over his eyes. A small black and white terrier was dancing around his feet as he walked, a red lead tethered him to the dressed up boy. The boy in the pointy hat was being pushed along by a girl, the only one in the group. She was followed by a young scrawny little lad who was carrying a bucket was a number of tools in it. On closer inspection he seemed to have a sword slung over his back. It was very ornate. The sensible part of Anathemas brain told her to walk away form this situation, it seemed too much like a horror movie in the middle of the day. But the descendant part of her brain which was notably bigger and more aggressive said that these kids would probably know something, anything that could point her in the right direction. She stuck on her best smile and walked over to them. They had reached a tree that hung over the path. A tire on a rope was bobbing in the breeze the dirt on the bank and under the swing was dusty and well worn, this was probably where they played a lot.

* * *

The British Inquisition had gotten off to a bumpy start. The trial of Brian the Muddy had gone ok but when they had tied him to the stake to burn, for the crime of having a weird belly button, no one could get hold of any matches. And the rack they had made had caused old Mr Tyler to shout at them.

Brian had been let off his crimes with a telling off and had to promise to serve the Inquisition as his punishment. They had sat on the church wall, Wendsleydale had told them that according to his book people who where smart and could read where also suspected to be witches.

As they could all read, this caused a bit of confusion as to what to do next. After some discussion with the head torturer (Pepper), Wensleydale was promptly accused of witchcraft. When he complained that James should be accused as well, as they where both in the same set for maths, Pepper had countered by saying that James didn’t have a cat unlike Wensleydale. Therefore in the eyes of the Them, Wensleydale was the more likely witch. That and James was Pepper assistant, apply named “He Who Holds The Bucket”. James was still worried about this, but he was in a permanent state of worry so no one noticed.

They had dressed Wensleydale appropriately. Brian, taking to his new role quickly, had whipped together a pointy hat out of hazel branches, newspaper & bin bags. The other alternative had been the traffic cone he pulled out of the pond.

The newly created witches hat didn’t fit Wensleydale’s head and kept slipping over his eyes, getting stuck in the process.

And so, they came to marching along the track to the “court room” and “torture area”.

Dog was excitedly bounding about the groups, pulling his lease to and fro until it wrapped around Adam’s legs and nearly making him fall over. His dad bullfighter’s hat was cool looking but annoying to wear, it made his head itch.

It was at this point Adam noticed that there was a young lady in a long dress walking towards them. One rule that his dad had taught Adam was not to talk to strangers. But there were the rule and then there were the RULES. Adam was always breaking the rules but he knew better when it came to breaking any of the RULES. The rules were just generally guidelines or suggestions. The RULES however were like a series of laws, each with its own subsection, connecting issues, cases and more. The RULES were not to be broken in anyway. For example, one of Adam’s dad’s rules was ‘don’t talk to strangers’ so instead Adam would talk to new people.

However, when his dad would say DON’T talk to strangers, Adam would shy away from people. He knew when strangers had been talking to his dad in the Mayfair flat, the smell of rotten eggs and burnt stone would linger for days. It would cling to his cloths when he came back from work with a grim look on his face or when Adam came home and found his dad asleep on the sofa. Yes Adam never spoke to strangers, but he was always happy to make new friends.

“Hey, guys.” The woman said

“Hi!” replied Adam politely. Dog barked happily as he run about in circles . He pushed the bull fighters hat back into places as the procession came to a stop.

The woman wondered over to them,

“Nice hat.” She smiled at Wendsleydale who was being man handled by Pepper.

“Thanks, I made it out of sticks and newspaper,” grinned Brian, he was very proud of that.

“Actually, It's for our game.” Wensleydale stated, while still being dragged next to Adam by Pepper, James placed the Bucket on the ground and started sorting through it. The sword on his back gave him a bit of trouble for a moment.

“Stylish.” The woman said and Wendsleydale preened at the praise.

“What are you guys playing?” the lady continued, looking over the merry gathering. Pepper was eyeing her, a frown on her faces.

This woman looked like a witch. Long dress, strange accent, alone in the woods. She didn’t trust her.

“The British Inquisition.” James replied, come up next to Pepper. The woman gave him a slightly worried smile. Pepper grabbed his arm and yanked him a little towards Adam, trying to get the group to move away from the woman.

The group moved slightly towards the swing. Pepper and Brian lifted Wensleydale onto the swing.

“Sounds like fun. How does the game work?” the woman said following them over. She joined Adam on the top of the bank. James sat down with his legs handing over the edge the bucket next to him. Ready to hand the next tool to Pepper. Adam smile at the woman, he pointed at his hat.

“I am chief inquisitor.” He said indicating the hat, “Pepper is head torturer.” He pointed at Pepper who was selecting a stick from the collection that James had brought, “James is her assistant,” James waved at her but shied away when Pepper glared at him. “Brian is head of the guard,” Brian was pushing Wensleydale on the swing. Wensleydale held onto his hat as he swung, “And we're trying to find a witch.” Adam finished happily. The woman cringed inwardly at this, her smile wobbling at the edges.

“Oh. Sounds very sensible.” She seemed to humour them, Adam did wish that adult wouldn’t be so patronising, “How do you do that?” she asked after a pause,

“Watch.” He said excitedly. He pointed at Wendsleydale who was spinning on the spot.

“Art thou a witch?” he shouted they all looked at the boy with glasses Brian aimed his long stick at him

“OLÃ!” he shouted.

Wensleydale held his hat and looked his friends.

“Yes?” he answered uncertainly. The group groaned as one, the woman looked at them all wondering what went wrong. They had a confession, what more did they want?

“You can't say yes.” Pepper growled “You've got to say no.”

“Then what?” he asked trying to look at his friends as he spun on the spot.

“Then we torture you until you say yes.” Adam said crossing his arms. Dog was pulling on his lead wanting to chase the swinging tire. The woman looked at the Them with slight concern.

“Wait, you're going to torture him?” the group looked at her like she was the crazy one.

“We built a torturing machine.” James pointed at the swing where Brian gave Wensleydale a push that sent him spinning away.

“It looks like a swing.” The woman stated, looked at Adam & hoping for a simile explanation.

Wensleydale, who was beginning to suspect that the others didn’t think he was a witch and being a witch was turning out to be quite fun, piped up.

“But, obviously, in this situation, I actually am a witch. I have a big pointy hat, and we have a cat at home, and I borrowed Mum's broom.” He was running out of ideas. Pepper gave the tire a kick and Wensleydale slowed in his spin to swing out. She huffed, grumbling at Wensleydale.

“Look, no one's saying you can't be a witch, but you just have to say you're not a witch. There's no point taking all this trouble if you're going to go round saying ‘yes’ the minute we ask you.” She explained.

“Just say no.” James asked him.

“But Art thou a witch, oh, evil crone?” Wensleydale asked. Being a witch was getting confusing.

“Excuse me, Adam, why must I do all the work?” Brian was getting a little worn out now. He had been pushing the swing for a while.

“I'm being tortured here.” Wensleydale complained as he passed Brian. “Actually, this is very painful.”

James rested his chin on his fist watching the swing.

“I am thinking of admitting to being a witch.” He mumbled watching Wensleydale jealousy.

“I'm going to go home if I can't have a go.” Brain said putting his foot down and looking up at Adam. “Don't see why evil witches should have all the fun.”

“You have to keep pushing.” Wensleydale argued. The woman slid up to Adam. James looked up at her as she moved passed him.

“Hey, kid.” she said quietly.

“Yeah?” Adam answered, looking away from the fight that was brewing in-front of them.

“Can I ask you something?” she asked

“Yeah.”

“Are there any great beasts or strange things happening around here?”

Adam gave her an odd look but he had been asked stranger question.

“Well, there's Dog.” Adam could only think of this one example, “I mean, he's a beast. Come on, Dog, say hello.” Dog jumped up at his master’s leg at his name. He looked up at the woman and his inner hell hound recognised a slight supernatural presence to the tall being in front of him. Though they were no threat to his master. He barked happily at her. The Woman smiled tightly at the dog.

“Not what I was looking for.” She muttered looking away. Down the bank Pepper was about ready to pull Wensleydale off the swing and give him a proper beating.

“Hold on. I have to tell them what to do.” He pointed at Wensleydale who was watching Pepper like he knew what she was thinking, “All right, evil witch Wensleydale, don't do it again.” Wensleydale looked like he was going to argue, “And now you get off the torturing swing and let someone else have a turn.” Wensleydale pouted but slipped out of the swing. He lost his hat in the process. Brian jumped up at the swing and nearly knocked the other boy over. This resulted in an argument as usual. Dog barks at the raised voices. The woman nods like she had come to a concussion. She smiled faintly at the group.

“Right, well, you kids are hilarious, but I'm going to keep looking, so, bye.” She hitched up her skirt and walked off, shaking her head at the nonsense. The British inquisition continued to torture its members on the tire swing

* * *

The M25, North:

Well that was interesting to say the least Crowley thought to himself. The demon had been taking Aziraphale back to London, when out of nowhere a woman had appeared and smashed into the side of the Bentley. Lucky the Bentley knew not to have any dents in it. The human hadn't come out of it so well. She was initially unconscious and her arm was clearly broken. Crowley had looked across to her bicycle which lay in a mangled hep beside the road. She was luck to have survived, he had thought to himself, especially as she's not wearing a helmet. He had even been instrumental in creating the current government Health and Safety guidelines (he had managed to convince Hell this was to create a sense of annoyance and frustration due to the amount of increased paperwork).

Crowley was still in favour of people learning by their mistakes so was about to drive off when Aziraphale had jumped out to help the poor women. This was typical of the Angel. Crowley was going to protest but Aziraphale had simply looked at him with big puppy dog eyes and said please. Crowley couldn't say no to that. After Aziraphale had healed the woman and helped nudge her back to consciousness, they had dropped her at her house. It had been just on the edge of Tadfield so it wasn't too far out of their way.

After a few hours of driving, Crowley pulled the Bentley up on the curb next to Aziraphale's book shop. There was always a spaced here. It was like the road carved out a little spot of the car and made all the humans ignore it. Aziraphale had been his normal chatty self as they had travelled back, though he had paled a few times at Crowley full throttle approach to driving. However. when he had stopped suddenly. He had reached back and pulled out an old, worn book.

“This must have belonged to the younger lady you hit with your car” the angel had said reproachfully, still examining the book's condition. It was like he was making mental notes about what needed restoration. It was book so Aziraphale had obviously take an interest.

“She hit me, and if you want to send it back just post it to Tadfield. Address it to the mad American woman and she'll get it eventually” Crowley had replied, leaning on the roof of his car, waiting for Aziraphale to invite him in for a drink. He was thinking about maybe sitting a little closer to Aziraphale tonight. Maybe even on the same sofa. Well it was the end times.

Then the Angel had finally looked at the book's title and frozen, staring at it as if he expected it to disintegrate in his hands. After that, Aziraphale had brushed him off and rushed into his shop with a “tickety boo” and a “Mind how you go”. Confused and rather disappointed, Crowley had tried to rope him back in by mentioning that they needed to talk to their contacts. But Aziraphale had hardly even acknowledge him and closed and locked the shops doors. Feeling a bit dejected and slightly stung, Crowley had climbed back into his car, turned up the music so he couldn’t hear his thoughts, and driven home.

* * *

Number 9, Hoggs Back Road, Tadfield:

Crowley swept into his office. If he had a cape it would have been billowing behind him. He ungracefully flopped down into his gilded chair which would have been the subject of envy for any medieval ruler.

He flicked on the massive flat screen TV that seemed to blend with the wall. The TV sparked into life. A late-night re-run of Jeremy Kyle had just begun much to Crowley’s dismay.

“Welcome back,” the slightly greying host half shouted above the noise of the audience, “On tonight’s show. Cara’s boyfriend thinks she cheated with another man through a letterbox! Can she prove her innocence? And Yasmin wants to know where her boyfriend when he said he was behind the chicken shop? Can a lie detector prove he's lying”?

Crowley rubbed his eyes. Watching Jeremy always destroyed his faith in humanity. Kyle reminded him of those men who would egg on the crowds to an almost frenzy level at the gladiatorial games back in Rome. Maybe a few episodes would help him come to terms with the end of the world though.

The show music played, and the title popped up. The camera cut back to a close-up of Jeremy’s face. You can tell his love of life has been squeezed out of him long ago.

“Now lets meet our first guest! Please say… Hello Crowley.”

The familiar voice immediately raised the hairs on the back of Crowley’s neck, as he looked up at the TV.

Hastur and Ligur where sitting in the guest chairs. There was no sound from the audiences, they looked froze in place. Kyle himself was locked in place, mid-announcement. Crowley briefly thought that they could uses some marriage counselling before Ligur’s almost growling voice dashed those thoughts from his mind.

“Just checking in.” he grumbled, the lizard on his head slowly moving and changing along with his eyes. These two really struggled to pass in public so just used their powers so pass unseen.

“Nice chair.” Hastur sneered. The pair were never able to show much emotion. They were currently just sitting there, watching him. Crowley signed, turning his head mostly towards them, his feet still up on the table.

“Hey, guys.” he responded half-hearted, greeting them calmly as to try not to show his worry about how all this was playing out.

“It's about the Antichrist.” Hastur said. Crowley signed; it was always this way when talking with Hastur. He would state the obvious in a slow, slimy and deliberate way, up until something doesn’t go his way and then everything crumbled into a mess of confused and anger. Ligur was more refined, but he had been locked in hell for longer that both Crowley and Hastur, so he really had the whole evil to the core thing down.

“Yeah.” Ligur added. It was more of a conforming grunt than anything else.

“Yeah, great kid. Takes after his dad.” Crowley span, trying to get the two off his back. Warlock was a little hell raiser, so his job was done on that front. They didn’t have to know he wasn’t the one they wanted.

Hastur ignored him.

“Our operatives in the State Department have arranged for the child's family to be flown to the Middle East.” This was more to just inform the other demon of what was happening, not to ask his option of things. Crowley cringed; everything was happening too fast for his liking.

“There, he and the Hell Hound will be taken to the Valley of Megiddo.” Ligur added, grinned as he did so. Watching Ligur smile was unpleasant. He was not meant to smile, it was a design flaw.

“The Four Horsemen will begin their final ride.” Hastur stated, all too pleased about this. Crowley turned his distressed whimper into a slightly less pathetic cheer, trying to smile at the other two demons. He was meant to be happy about this after all.

“Armageddon will begin. The final combat.” Hastur was working himself up while sitting completely still. It was quite a skill.

“It's what we've been working towards since we rebelled.” Ligur again added, turned his unpleasant smile on his companion while sharing in his unnatural joy. Crowley rubbed his faces again and when he looked back, Hastur was watching him closely,

“We are the fallen. Never forget that.” He kept eye contacted, watching Crowley like he knew everything.

“Well, it's not the sort of thing you forget.” Crowley muttered bitterly.

“I don't trust you, Crowley.” Hastur whispered narrowing his eyes at him. Crowley smiled at him. Likewise, he thought.

“Everything's going just fine.” was the last thing he said before hitting the off switch and shutting off the screen. The room was plunged into darkness. Outside an owl hooted. Crowley leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling,

“I didn't mean to fall.” He bemoaned to the universe in general, “I just hung around the wrong people.”

* * *

Crowley lay in black silk sheets. He turned to the left and snuggled into the memory form mattress. He turned to the right and stretched out on the over sided king bed. Lying on his back he eyed the ceiling for a good napping spot. An owl hooted though the slightly open window. The sheets were wrapped around him like bat wings. The red of his silk pyjamas contrasting the black. He had almost slithered out of the bed three times that night alone. Silk on silk resulted in not much friction.

He gave up.

Standing and passive aggressively tugging the sheets off the bed and half dragging them across the room before abandoning them, he slipped out the door. He stormed back in and slammed the window closed cutting off another hoot from the unseen owl.

Being a demon Crowley couldn’t help but stalk as he walked, grumbling his way down the hall he paused at Adams room. Pushing the door open slightly to check that all was well.

He knocked over a transformer toy that stared to beep. Quick as a flash Crowley smothered the toy with a discarded shirt. He looked up to check that he hadn't woken the boy. He was faced with two brown eye that where once red.

Dog looked Crowley dead in the eye. The hell hound snorted. He wasn't scared of this demon, he was already labelled as a caretaker of his master so he would live. This night anyway.

Dog turned and trotted back over to his masters bed. With a skilful leap he landed in a pile of abandoned clothing. Adams room was a typical boys room. Full of junk and rarely tidy. He had toys everywhere. Adam had a large wardrobe full off all his cloths, he also had a floor-drobe which got more use. Adam had never really though about it but if he dropped a shirt that was covered in mud on the floor, the next day it would be clean and useable again. Crowley had never invested in a washing machine.

He currently had a pile of washing on his desk chair and a similar pile on the end of his bed. The bed itself was every young boy's dream, a large queen side thing with a climbing frame over it. Adam had covered it with a blanket to create a fort. It reminded Crowley of the canopy beds back in the Victorian era. Adam was still fast asleep. A pot of felt pens was tipped over next to him on the bed along with a pad of paper. He had been drawing before falling asleep. Adam was a crafty kid in more than just the sneaky way. A model of the solar system hung next to his light. One wall was dedicated to depicting the games and adventures that The Them got up too.

Crowley grumbled as he stood from smothering the robot toy, it was dead now. He picked his way over to his sons bed picking up the pens. He didn’t discourage Adam from doing anything he enjoyed by he would have to tell him not to leave open pens on his bed cover.

Placing the pen pot back on his desk, he slipped out the door again, ignoring the brown eye that watched his movements. Bloody dog, why did he let Aziraphale get it for him again? Oh yeah end of the world and all that.

Once again in the hall way, he made his way down to the door at the end. This room's occupant had never stayed at the Tadfield house. Even with existence use of a child to blackmail them into staying. A few of the arguments with the angel flowed through Crowley's mind as he walked.

_“The book shop wont run its self, and I need to be open early tomorrow.”_

_“You never sell any of your books so why do you need to be open early?”_

_“I don’t want to impose my dear, and Adam had school in the morning, I don’t want to break that routine.”_

_“He is literally clinging to your leg begging you to stay, I don’t think he is worried about school.”_

_“Dear, we can't, what if they see us.”_

_“We are in the middle of the fucking countryside, I doubt heaven or hell even know this place exists.”_

Crowley pushed open the door, not looking at the myriad of empty bookshelves the room smelt of dust and the distinct lack of life. He shuffled over to the large bed. It had a thick duvet covers in a soft cream. Pillows littered the bed and a tartan blanket was covering the foot. The oak side-tables flanked the bed on either side. Fabric shaded lamps with easy pull cords to turn off and on.

Crowley only had his eyes on one side of the bed. He dropped down onto it and was almost swallowed by the soft mattress. In his room Crowley had hard edges and sharp edged sheets. Here everything was soft. The bed, the pillows, the sofas next to the fireplaces. Crowley wiggled under the duvet finding a small gap between the pillows and the mattress to slip under. The bed smelt clean, the sheets still keeping fresh and aired. He snuggled and wiggled until he was in the right spot, lying on his side facing out towards the door. Once he had found it, he grabbed one of the lager pillows from the other side of the bed, tucking it behind him. Reluctantly, he moved so he could reach under the bed and spent a few seconded in the awkward position, half lying over the side pulling out an electric blanket and plugging it in. He pulled the blanket up and wrapped it around the pillow, effectively replicating body heat. Now that everything was in places, Crowley closed his eyes and pressed back into the pillow. He concentrated hard and imaged that the warm was from a body not a pillow, that the room was full of books lulling him to sleep with their hummed silence, that he wasn’t alone in this big bed. He pulled up the memory of stupidly expensive cologne, coco and warm skin.

Some nights if he really tried hard he could feel a phantom hand slipping around his waist and just resting there, he could even hear soft breaths on the back of his neck. Or he would hear the rustle of a page as it turned and fingers softly brushing though his hair. Those are the best nights for sleep but the worst morning to wake up too an empty bed.

Settled into the comfort of the fake embrace, Crowley began to slip into unconsciousness,

“Good night,” he whispered into the empty room. In his mind a soft voice whispered back,

“Good night my dear,” Crowley fell asleep at last.


End file.
